

Gass PR 3976 
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GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE, 


LONDON: 

IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 



AN ESSAY 


ON THE 

iiRauus of 

t 

WITH CRITICAL REMARKS ON THE CHARACTERS OF 

ROMEO, HAMLET, JULIET, AND OPHELIA; 


TOGETHER WITH SOME OBSERVATIONS ON 

THE WRITINGS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

TO WHICH IS ANNEXED, 

A LETTER TO LORD-, 


CONTAINING 

A CRITIQUE 

ON 

TASTE, JUDGMENT, AND RHETORICAL EXPRESSION 
AND REMARKS ON 

THE LEADING ACTORS OF THE DAY. 


Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child. —Milton. 



HENRY MERCER GRAVES, 

AUTHOR OF CATILINE, A TRAGEDY; 
SKETCHES OF HIGH LIFE AND OF THE TENTH; 
THE AMATORY ODES OF HORACE TRANSLATED; 
POLITICAL CORRESPONDENCE, 


&C. &C. 


LONDON: ,-v, ' < 

JAMES BIGG, 53, PARLIAMENT STREET, 

1826. 



CO A/0 

g] 







LONDON: 

IBOTSON ANt> PALMER, PRINTERS, SATOY STREET, STRAND. 


TO THE 

RIGHT HON. GEORGE CANNING. 

£c. fyc. 

SIR, 

I DO MYSELF THE HONOUR 

OF 

PRESENTING TO YOU THE FOLLOWING WORK. 

AS YOUR NAME CARRIES ITS OWN EULOGY WITH IT, 
YOUR TALENTS REQUIRE NO FLATTERY FROM ME, 

IN A MORE PROLIX DEDICATION, 


I AM, SIR, 


YOUR VERY OBEDIENT 


AND VERY HUMBLE SERVANT, 


HENRY M. GRAVES. 




ADVERTISEMENT, 


In submitting the following Essay to the reader, 
I shall be permitted to mention to him, that I have 
purposely avoided reading any critique, paper, 
essay, or remarks on either the genius or the cha¬ 
racters of our celebrated Bard. I mention this, 
more for the professed critic than for the general 
reader, for the purpose of saying that if pla¬ 
giarism (than which I know nothing more un¬ 
pardonable) is to be discovered in the work, I 
trust it will be attributed to accident, and not 
wilfulness. 

The Essay which follows, was one of four 
others, for which the author received a prize; 
(unjustly he owns when he recollects the clever¬ 
ness of the other papers ;) and the Letter which is 



Vlll 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


annexed, was intended by me to be made more 
polished and finished for the public eye; but I 
found that in doing so, I but added study instead 
of ornament; and as the former is totally irrele¬ 
vant in the epistolary style, I shall allow it to be 
perused exactly as it was originally written, and 
have only to blame myself, if the critic should 
treat it harshly. 


AN ESSAY 


ON THE 

GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE, 

$c. fyc. 


In writing the following essay on the genius of 
our immortal bard, I dare say I shall meet some 
readers who will tell me that I have been pervaded 
too much with those kind of favourable ideas 
which look on the works of such a poet as fault¬ 
less. Minds uninfluenced by the melody of poetry, 
(melody too such as his) and uncaptivated by the 
charms which his scenes present, will necessarily 
agree in thinking, that my admiration is some¬ 
what too warm, and my eulogy too high. To 
such readers, I own I should feel but little plea¬ 
sure in addressing myself. I blame them not, 
however. Business, and a thousand other avo- 
actions must, necessarily, prevent their having 


B 



2 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


either time or inclination to look into his works, 
or admire his beauties. Interest in them they 
cannot take—then why should they in his praise ; 
however, if apology is necessary to severer critics 
or duller minds, I must only say, that somewhat 
of warmth and eulogy must be allowed when 
writing on such a theme as the praise of Shake¬ 
speare. 

I am blamed, perhaps, by many as one who is 
led away, by too delightedly listening to the tones 
of a harp, struck by such a mighty master as 
Shakespeare. The melody has been flung too 
harmoniously on my ear, and the breathings of 
its chords has been thrown too hurriedly on a 
mind, perhaps too sensible to the beauty which 
rings from it, and the sweetness which pervades 
it. To this charge I own. Perhaps I am too 
fond both of him and the temple where he is 
worshipped. Sincerity though I claim. His 
worshipper is not a cold one; and if I am lavish 
in my praises of him, I feel convinced they are 
deserved. 

I address myself then to those who can take 
an interest in subjects such as the present. If 
any should find fault with it, who do not exactly 
belong to this class, their censure, I should imagine, 
would be unfair . Like the laws of my country, I 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


3 


claim a right to be tried by my peers, and though 
I have no doubt that many will be willing enough 
to blame me, I yet shall not much heed their 
opinion, unless it has judgment to give it weight. 
To legitimate critics I commit myself. I can¬ 
not say that I will claim much merit for writing 
on the genius of Shakespeare. It is a subject 
fertile in itself, and abundant and sufficient for 
him who would draw materials from it. Many 
have spoken of it, but it yet remains a fund rich 
and inexhausted, from which the sons of genius 
can yet draw themes to hand down to latest ages. 
Though I readily admit that the subject has been 
most ably handled before, yet I may, in some 
measure, skreen myself from the charge of te¬ 
merity, in writing on what such able critics have 
gone through, by remarking, that the perusal of 
the plays of this master have been a source of the 
most infinite delight to me. Thus would I endea¬ 
vour to do away the idea that I am wrong in 
speaking on a subject, which has been so often 
and so critically passed over. It is yet though 
inexhausted. It is a path and a region of sweets. 
Flowers spring around you at every turn, scat¬ 
tered by that hand, whose touch has thrilled on the 
high harp of poetry, and whose fingers leave on 
them the sweetness which they for ever will 


4 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


breathe of. The laurel here blooms fresh and 
fair — blooms brightest too; for Shakespeare 
hallows its soil. To pluck a branch I will dare. 
My merit, I own, may not be equivalent to the 
boldness of the attempt, but the theme of Shake¬ 
speare’s praise is fertile in itself; it can enlarge 
and invigorate the most torpid mind, and even on 
the leaden gravity of dulness, can bind the airy 
wing of fancy. 

Above all those poets who have, in any age or 
nation shed a lustre on mankind, Shakespeare 
stands unrivalled in the power of painting with 
the energy and fidelity of truth and nature ; his 
pictures live before you; they strike at once on 
the heart, enter into all its feelings, and enchain 
all its attentions. Let the eye throw but a cur¬ 
sory glance on them, ’tis irresistibly impelled 
to fix its most earnest gaze. While engaged in 
his scenes, you think no longer of him who 
writes, but of those who act and speak ; you weep 
for their distresses, and rejoice at their happiness; 
you follow them through all the variety of their 
fortunes, and sympathize in all their feelings; 
you watch over them with anxious solicitude for 
their welfare when good, and burn against them with 
indignation and hatred when bad. Whence does 
this proceed ? Why is it that his representations 


* * 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


5 


thus seem realities , and that they find their way 
at once to the heart, with such immediate and 
resistless force? Whence is it, that while the 
woiks of other poets are at once overwhelmed 
beneath the ocean of time, or at best feebly resist 
the gulphs of oblivion, the blasts of prejudice, or 
the rocks of criticism; that those of Shakespeare 
still bear up triumphant and unimpaired? ’Tis 
because he wrote from the inspiration of nature 
herself ; "tis because she filled his whole soul, and 
made it her temple to dwell in. She guided every 
idea, warmed and perfected every description, and 
fired every effusion and passion. She made him 
acquainted with all her wide extended kingdom, 
laid before him all its various views, led him 
through every path, and to every hidden recess; 
displayed to him the gardens of her roses and 
flowers, and made him copy the loveliest scenes 
of hill and dale, of beauteous skies, of gloomy 
forests, and stupendous rocks, and lay them before 
the charmed and ravished eye of man ! She showed 
to him the ample and irregular province of the 
human heart; gave him to trace with penetrative 
sagacity through all its mazy windings, and 
look through its most secret ways; and as his 
eye glowed from the view, she commanded him to 
stamp each living image that he drew, with the 


6 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


indelible impression of truth, and the vivid co¬ 
louring of nature. 

Where meet we with the burst of woe and the 
wail of sadness ? Where, with the low voice of 
feeling, and the tremulous tone of despondency ? 
Where shall we look for the flowing melody that 
ravishes the ear, and the dulcet songs that thrill 
on the soul ? Where for the language that reaches 
the heart, and hurries it away with the deep 
impulse of wonder and ravishment? In Shake¬ 
speare—in all-creative Shakespeare! unrivalled 
and alone he stands single and pre-eminent as the 
only master who has struck the chords of the harp 
of nature —others are but learners—scholars. He 
the proud and high spirit that has played on its 
tones with the might and the melody of an omni¬ 
potence ! 

Where shall we look for his rival? I in vain 
look around me to try and place some mighty 
spirit by his side, but I see him not. There is a 
peculiar and a flowing sweetness in the rhyme of 
Shakespeare, that never yet has been attained. 
It runs from his harp, as if he were so conscious 
of its pleasing, that he heeded not the tones which 
swept beneath his fingers. Carefulness is laid by. 
Unheeded by him, harmony, softness, plaintiveness. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


7 


and beauty, and eloquence, and melody, and bright¬ 
ness flow and flash from the strings that are dashed 
over with the hurried and yet beautiful minstrelsy 
of creative diversity. Extremes here meet. Terror 
and touchingness—simplicity and sublimity melt 
and mingle into such eloquent discordia concors , 
that the soul is hurried away by the divineness of 
the tones, and gives itself up to his guidance as if 
overpowered and entranced. What other mortal 
had this power but Shakespeare ? Why should 
he not have had it, when he was Nature’s own 
child—her favourite son—her beloved offspring. 
Step-sons are her other children. They have 
been received into her family ; but they have not 
been nursed by her. Shakespeare was under her 
own eye—her .guidance—her protection. She 
gave him power unlimited, and sway uncon¬ 
trolled—told him to range the earth and sweep 
the sea—bid him look into her most hidden re¬ 
cesses and open her secret springs—empowered 
him to go over the wide globe and to trace the 
pathless plains of the scenes of other worlds— 
then soar to her heaven and stay throned there, 
high and immortal! 

If we look carefully into other writers, we shall 
find that they paint their characters, actuated by 
peculiar modes and customs, accidental fashions 


8 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


and local, personal, and professional opinions and 
prejudices, unknown to mankind in general, and 
practised perhaps not by a nation or sect, but by 
a single individual. Such character therefore can 
only interest that inconsiderable portion, with 
whom they are connected by a similarity in cus¬ 
toms, manners, and sentiments. But Shakespeare 
with a powerful eye looked abroad on the whole 
race of man. The grand outlines of human 
nature are ever the same, and however the light, 
shades, colouring, and costume may be influenced 
by those contingent changes, which affect time 
and place ; yet the principal figures still retain 
their original form, force, and size. The piercing 
optics of our mighty poet saw this, and with a 
well skilled hand he drew those universal habits, 
feelings, passions, and desires, which are bom 
with all men, and interwoven with their existence. 
His characters are no creatures of a day—no 
ephemeral abortions that only live to die—no spu¬ 
rious progeny raised by the false sunshine of a 
transient fashion, and fading into the darkness of 
oblivion when that fashion yields to another as 
fleeting as itself:—and thus it is that those of all 
nations and all ages, however distinguished by 
particular modes and prejudices, and whatever 
else forms a difference in the human character— 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


9 


will find in his works pleasure and instruction— 
will feel interested in his scenes and characters, 
for the hearts of all will be touched, where each 
owns a relation and connection. 

I shall now glance at three or four characters, 
which have indeed been sketched by a true mas¬ 
ter’s hand; and there are few portraits by this 
first of painters which have been embodied in such 
glowing, vivid, and just colouring, as those to 
which I allude. 

Two of them have been imitated a thousand 
and a thousand times, but never have succeed¬ 
ed ; the second (for it seems unapproachable) 
has never been imitated. I now speak of the 
first. 

The character of Romeo is that of the most 
perfectly drawn lover I ever read. All succeeding 
impressions seem to have been taken from this, 
but have never come up to it in pathos, feeling, 
and overwhelming depth of passion. In this last 
attribute, the character of “ The Giaour,” from 
the creative and powerful hand of Byron, comes 
nearest to it of any I have read ; but his stormy 
passions want the other two redeeming qualities^ 
to give it that interest and suavity, which wins 
and twines round the female heart so impercepti- 


10 


ESSAY ON\SHAKESPEARE, 


bly—so powerfully. The language which Shake¬ 
speare uses when he makes these interesting lovers 
converse, is some of the very sweetest that ever 
flowed from his pen. I know nothing (in that 
line) so exquisitely sweet—so passingly tender, as 
the garden scene in Romeo and Juliet. Passion, 
tenderness, feeling, omnipotent love breathe in 
every line, and run rich and riotous through 
every expression. Mark his discrimination. His 
scene is a garden of blushing roses and balmy 
flowers. It is night—the night that is in Italy— 
soft, silent, calm, and lonely. The moon is up, 
and his interesting and most lovely heroine is 
flung on a couch watching her course among her 
attending stars, but her thoughts far away on 
“ the God of her Idolatry.” How natural is her 
sigh, and the short but expressive 

“ Ah me !” 

The reader must look into this, or it will appear 
common-place to him. Had Shakespeare put a 
long and elaborate speech into her mouth for her 
first expressions there is no ear of taste that would 
not have deprecated the incorrectness of it. Rut 
that word speaks her heart, and wherever the heart 
speaks, either on the stage or in real life, it never 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


11 


is incorrect. How appropriate too is her lover’s 
appeal to her, when he hears that first sound of 
her well known voice. It is brilliant and vivid. 

She speaks ! she speaks ! 

Oh speak again bright angel, for thou art 
As glorious to this sight, being o’er my head 
As is a winged messenger from heaven 
To the upturn’d wond’ring eyes of mortals 
When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds, 

And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

If the reader looks closely into this, he will per¬ 
ceive a little of bombast in it. ’Tis correct. Carried 
away by the feelings of the moment—hurried on 
by the actual appearance to him, of the being he 
loved most; it would have evinced little know¬ 
ledge of human nature if “ the mighty master ” 
had not allowed his feelings to govern him, and 
thus break at once into passion and enthusiasm. 
Pass this part of the play, and in no other place 
is this slight touch of the extravaganza perceived. 
Mark again this judgment. There is of course 
(and correctly) warmth and enthusiasm; but I 
cannot find out any part of the drama which glides 
into the bombast in the perceptible manner that 
this does. 

What perfect music is in the vowels of the fol¬ 
lowing line. I also beg of the reader to mark the 


12 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


force, both of love and language in the word 
<€ wherefore.” 

Romeo ! Romeo ! —wherefore art thou Romeo ? 

In the next line to this her love breaks out. 
She can no longer with old even telling herself of 
it, and in the very second line that she speaks, 
she accordingly with solicitous fondness says. 

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, 

Or, if thou will not, be but sworn my love , 

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet. 

Romeo . Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at 
this. ( aside.) 

The judgment of this reply of Romeo’s consists, 
not in the line itself, but in the direction of the 
inimitable painter to have it spoken “ aside.” 

How sweet and girlish, and how full of satisfied 
argument are the following lines. 

’Tis not thy name , that is my enemy ! 

What’s in a name? that, which we call a rose 
By any other name would smell as sweet. 

So Romeo would, (were he not Romeo called) 

Retain that dear 'perfection which he owns, 

Without that title; Romeo, quit thy name, 

And for thy name, which is no part of thee, 

Take all myself !* 

* In writing this passage, I have made two altera¬ 
tions in it, which I think make it plainer. In the 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


13 


Romeo’s next answer discovers himself; and it 
is here that the judgment of Shakespeare more 
particularly evinces itself. Juliet is on the bal¬ 
cony, enjoying the “ cool and silent hour/’ and to¬ 
tally heedless of every sight and sound, while 
her thoughts are wrapped up in “ the one loved 
name.” She perceives not Romeo—hears not 
Romeo; but is so completely lost in her own soli¬ 
tary and love-fraught musings, that she can do 
nothing, but as it w T ere think aloud of the one 
on whom her heart is set. She can no longer con¬ 
tain herself, and she exclaims with the heedless 
but deep fondness of woman, “ Take all myself!” 
On hearing this, Romeo can no longer withhold, 
and he accordingly says, ** I take thee at thy 
word.” She then discovers that Romeo (unheeded 
by her) has been listening all the while to her 
fond and tender exclamations, and after some 
further discourse, addresses him in the following 

third line, I have inclosed some of the words in a paren¬ 
thesis, joining them thus —■“ So Romeo would retain 
that dear perfection,” &c. &c. In several editions 
they write the word “ owes.” I have made it owns , 
which makes both sense and grammar. The words 
“ dear perfection,” strike me as being very expressive. * 
Mark the woman’s love of “ Take all myself” 



14 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


sweet apostrophe. I mark some of the words in 
italics. 

Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face, 

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, 

For that which thou hast heard me speak to night. 
Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain deny 
What 1 have spoke; but farewell compliment— 
Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say, aye. 

And I will take thy word .*■—Yet if thou swear’st, 
Thou may’st prove false ; at lover’s perjuries • 

They say Jove laughs. Oh gentle Romeo, 

If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. 

Or, if thou think I am too quickly won, 

HI be perverse, and say thee nay, 

So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world . 

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, 

And, therefore, thou mayst think my ’haviour light, 
But trust me, gentleman, HI prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 

I should have been more strange , I must confess A 
But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware, 

My true love's passion ; therefore pardon me, 

* This is the finest stroke of character in this most 
musical speech. 

t I request the reader to mark the great naturalness 
of this line—the three last words particularly.. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE; 


15 


And not impute this yielding to light love 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom . Lady, by yonder blessed moon, I vow, 

That tips with silver all these tree tops. 

Jul. Oh ! swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
moon, 

That monthly changes in her circled orb, 

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Rom. What shall I swear by ? 

Jul. Do not swear at all; 

Or, if thou wilt; swear by thy gracious self. 

Which is the god of my idolatry , 

And I'll believe thee.- 

----sweet, good night! 

Rom. Oh! wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 

Jul. What satisfaction can’st thou have to night ? 
Rom. TIT exchange of thy love’s faithful vow 
for mine. 

Jul. I gave thee mine, before thou didst request it; 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it?—For what 
purpose, love ? 

Jul. But to be frank, I give it thee again. 

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 

My love as deep;—the more I give to thee, 

The more I have, for both * are infinite. 

* Id est, bounty and love. Mark the false (but 
womanish) philosophy of this. 




16 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


I hear some noise within.—Dear love, adieu ! 

Sweet Montague be true; 

Stay but a little, I will come again. 

Enter Juliet again. 

Jul. If that thy bent of love be honourable, 

Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 

And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay 

And follow thee, my love, throughout the world. 

-but if thou mean’st not well, 

I do beseech thee 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief. 

A thousand times good night. 

She enters again. 

Hist! Romeo, Hist! Oh for a fale’ner’s voice 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again— 

Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud, 

Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 

And make her voice more hoarse than mine, 

With repetition of my Romeo. 

Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name. 
How wond’rous sweet sound lovers' tongues by 
night 

Like softest music to attending ears! 

Jul. Romeo ! 

Rom. My sweet! 

Jul. At what o’clock to-morrow shall I send to 
thee ? 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 17 

Rom. By the hour of nine. 

Jul. I will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 
Jul. I shall forget to have thee still stand there, 
Remembering how I love thy company. 

Rom . And I’ll stay here, to have thee still forget, 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. ’Tis almost morning. I would have thee 
gone, 

And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird 
That lets it hop a little from her hand 
And with a silk thread pulls it back again, 

So loving jealous of his liberty. 

Rom. I would I were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I; 

Yet, I should kill thee with much cherishing — 
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet 
sorrow , 

That I shall say good night till it be morrow. 

Rom . Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
breast. 

Would, I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest. 

I feel confident the reader will forgive me, for 
extracting so much of this beautiful dialogue. 
He who has any ear for music, will read this 
garden scene over and over again. Often as I 
have perused it (as well as the characters of Ham- 


c 



18 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


let and Othello) I even, at this hour, discover new 
beauties in it as well as them . It is all nature. 
There is no study—no art in it—no laboured and 
mawkish effusions of love. The lines are the very 
eloquence of love and music. Mark the winning 
gentleness—the girlish sweetness—the timid and 
shrinking, yet deep and overwhelming fondness of 
the interesting Juliet; and the unconquerable, 
enthusiastic, and idolatrous adoration of the 
“ heart-smitten ” Romeo. Never did I read a 
character where love was so omnipotent—affect- 
tion and constancy so predominant, as in that of 
Juliet. Eloise, all Voltaire’s characters, Cleo¬ 
patra, even those warm and winning fairy-forms 
from the voluptuous hand of Byron, fade and 
shrink before it. Juliet is all love, all gentleness, 
all woman. Love is her life and being. She lives 
in Romeo. She hears, sees, talks, thinks of no¬ 
thing but “ the god of her idolatry.” Even from 
the first moment she talks to him, she gives him 
her heart, after the insinuating discourse which he 
uses to her in the ball room. Mark the hurry, 
the first love, the fluttering fear of 

Go ask his name. If he be married 

My grave is like to be my wedding-bed. 

Even in the ball-room, she cannot contain her 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


19 


affection for him (for it is still the heart that is 
speaking) and she instantly enquires the name of 
the unknown who kissed her hand, and with it 
took her heart. 

He is the ocean to the river of her thoughts.* 

In the garden scene the eloquence of Juliet is 
beyond that of Romeo. Sweet and winning as are 
his words, there is not so much character in them 
as those of Juliet’s. Here again mark the 
judgment. Love is woman’s life. Should she 
not therefore be more eloquent on the subject 
which is in a manner herself ? If the reader will 
look attentively at the entire of this most pleasing 
drama, he will still find this trait carried through¬ 
out all her language. It breathes in warm and 

* I have here changed the personal pronouns. I look 
on this verse to contain the most beautiful metaphor 
in one line, in the entire compass of English poetry. 
Recollecting this, I cannot account for the strange 
taste of the inimitable author of it (Byron) in adding 
any thing to it. It stands thus in the original, 

“ She was the ocean to the river of his thoughts 
Which terminated all” 

What use are the three last words. They cannot— 
they do not add to it. Addition spoils the line. Read 
it without them, (putting the period at “ thoughts,”) 
and it is exquisitely beautiful. 

c 2 


20 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


vivid sighs in the night scene—glows with truth 
and fond ardour in the hour of her marriage—and 
deepens into despair, but changeless affection in 
the moment of trial and death. Looking at the 
character in this—-in these lights, she is the most 
interesting of all the heroines of the “ divine 
bard.” Ophelia and Desdemona are not to be 
excepted. It strikes me that correct taste would 
place Ophelia (before Desdemona) as the second 
most interesting heroine of his plays. Juliet is, 
in every respect, pre-eminently the first. She 
loves—she is crossed in love—her husband is 
banished—she is commanded to love another—she 
refuses—she entails the curse of her father—the 
very means she assumes to save her from marry¬ 
ing Paris, brings death not merely to herself, but 
to the being for whom alone she would live. 
This catastrophe is highly wrought, and most 
deeply affecting. And here, her love changes not. 
Even though there is poison on the lips of her 
lover, still she hugs—still she kisses him. In this 
scene the sound of his voice recalls back her 
fleeting senses. Mark the fondness—the sweet¬ 
ness of the following lines— 

I know that voice ! Its magic sweetness wakes 
My tranced soul—I now remember well 
Each circumstance—oh, my lord ! my husband ! 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


21 


-Let me touch 

Thy hand, and touch the cordial of thy lips. 

It would be wrong not to continue such melody. 
I copy some lines more, taken from this harp of 
“ love and song/" 

JuL Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale and not the lark, 

That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranite tree: 

Believe me , Love , it was the nightingale . 

Rom . It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 

No nightingale--- 

I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

JuL Yon light is not day light, I know it well. 
Then stay awhile, thou shalt not go so soon. 

Rom. Ah! Farewell, my Love! one kiss, and I’ll 
begone. 

JuL Art thou gone so ? Love ! Lord ! Ah Hus¬ 
band, Friend! 

I must hear from thee every day in tK hour, 

For in love’s hours there are many days: 

Oh! by this count I shall be much in years 
Ere I again behold my Romeo. 

Oh, thinkst thou we shall ever meet again ? 

Rom. I doubt it not. 

JuL Oh Heavens ! Lhave an ill divining soul, 
Methinks I see thee, now thou’rt parting from me 
As one, dead in the bottom of a tomb! 


\ 





22 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


I think all this excessively sweet—pre-emi¬ 
nently natural and tender. I beg to notice to the 
reader the great propriety of the repetition of the 
second line of Juliet’s address respecting the 
nightingale. Likewise, the judgment of making 
her commence her discourse by the tender interro¬ 
gatory of, “ Wilt thou begone. Love?” I also 
notice the great naturalness of these two lines. 

Yon light is not daylight, 1 know it well. 

I must hear from thee every day in the hour. 

I further remark the hurried eagerness, and fond 
delight, with which she catches the phial from 
the Friar, the contents of which are to induce the 
drowsiness which afterwards terminates so fatally. 

Jul. (Taking the phial.) Give me ! Oh, give me ! 

Tell me not of fear. 

But extracts would multiply on me without end, 
from this interesting and perfectly Italian drama. 
One would almost think that Shakespeare sat 
amid the “ starry skies and cloudless climes” of 
the calm and classic Italy. That he felt the warm 
inspiration and the voluptuous dreaming of a poet 
horn in the amorous and sunny south ; and that 
the spirits of Tasso, Catullus, and Ariosto hovered 
about him, while his rich and rapid pen was 
sketching off (vivid and beautiful) the warm and 


/ 


ESSAY OxN SHAKESPEARE. 


23 


love breathing scenes of his delightful “ Romeo 
’and Juliet.” Tis nothing but love, and warmth, 
and imagination, and voluptuous attachment from 
beginning to end. All the picture is sketched in 
Italian painting. ’Tis all sunny hues and warm 
dyes. Fervour, and fondness, and most magical 
sweetness flow and irradiate from his pen while it 
is pourtraying the scenes and characters of this 
highly wrought drama. # The music which is to 
be found in its scenes, is I think superior to any 
other tones struck from the harp that this master 
of surpassing melody knew so well how to sweep. 
The chords of it are all strung to love* Blighted 
and unhappy, but fond and overwhelming love is 
his theme ; and with mighty and magic touches— 

* I refer the reader to the conversation between 
Nurse and Juliet, in the fifth scene of the second act, 
and request of him to mark the infinite effect of the 
repetition of— 

Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what says my 
love! 

I also refer him to the vivid and love breathing soli¬ 
loquy of— 

Gallop apace, ye fiery footed steeds! 

Here mark the force of “ love performing night,” and 
“ leap to these arms.” 



24 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


with tones of dark and most melancholy woe, he 
tells a tale of love— 

That tale of true love, that never did run smooth ! 

Romeo is a most difficult character to perform. 
I shall own to the reader that (like the “ Dori- 
court” of Mrs. Cowley) I never saw it performed 
yet. It requires so many things to act this cha¬ 
racter, that I almost despair of ever having the 
pleasure of seeing it correctly done. Feeling and 
judgment are indispensably necessary to perform 
the part. So it is with that master piece— 
Hamlet. I would however draw this distinction. 
There is (of the two) more o i feeling than judg¬ 
ment, required in acting Romeo—more of judg¬ 
ment than feeling in acting Hamlet. Romeo is 
completely made, to tell 

A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear 
Such as would please. 

I refer the reader to the part where he is first 
introduced, for the “ first sitting ” (if I may use 
the term) of his character. You are there told, 
not who, but what be is. I here adduce another 
instance of the judgment of this creator. Romeo 
is made to fall in love with a person whom he has 
as yet had no conversation with. This is ro¬ 
mantic—and ’tis characteristic because romantic-— 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


25 


and ’tis dramatic because characteristic. I here 
will readily grant that it does not evince com¬ 
mon sense; but this quality we really must 
forget in the lover. In this latter character the 
master wished to pourtray him, and he has ac¬ 
cordingly throughout , done so. The acutest 
reader cannot find any scene—any word which 
does not evince the pensive but at the same time 
fervid lover. I know nothing more perfectly insi¬ 
nuating than his first brilliant but yet retiring 
address to Juliet at the masquerade. 

If I profane, with my unworthy hand 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this. 

The brilliancy consists in the last line—the 
timidness is expressed in the words “ profane ” 
and “ unworthy.” I also quote his second and 
third replies to Juliet as instances of this insi¬ 
nuating manner. 

The reader will here permit me (and perhaps he 
will understand the character the better) to draw 
a distinction between genteel manners and insi¬ 
nuating manners. I affirm then that a person 
may be genteel—nay, that he may be very genteel, 
and yet not be in the slightest degree insinuating ; 
but—a person cannot be insinuating without being 
eminent If/ genteel. Insinuating manners are, in a 



26 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


manner, like talent— horn with a person; now 
genteel manners can be acquired . For proofs of 
what I advance I ask the reader to go to the next 
party he may chance to be invited to, and he will 
there meet, a hundred persons who possess genteel 
manners, and perhaps about one who possesses 
insinuating manners. How comes this discre¬ 
pancy it may be asked? I answer by saying, 
that to be insinuating, requires talent—graceful 
figure—sweet voice—great gentility—and a slight 
touch of the warm and playful “ Charles/’ of the 
brilliant Sheridan. Now these are qualities that 
are not always combined; and unless my observa¬ 
tions deceive me, I remark that this character is 
to be seen in more natural perfection in the sister 
kingdom than in England. The Englishman is 
constitutionally dull; the Irishman constitutionally 
cheerful. 

I perceive I am somewhat digressing, but I do 
so for the purpose of making myself more clear to 
the reader. The intuitive mind of Shakespeare 
then knew the advantage of insinuation in man¬ 
ner, and accordingly I bring up as proofs of it, 
the entire words of Romeo to Juliet; the addresses 
(the touches are slight but masterly) of Hamlet 
to the interesting Ophelia; the manly and warrior 
like, but soft and tender wooings of the Moor to 


27 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

Desdemona; and reciprocally, the soft and insi¬ 
nuating appeals of the gentle bride to her Lord, 
to have the disgraced favourite restored; the 
pleadings of Isabella to the lustful Angelo; all 
these (and many more) might be adduced to show 
how Shakespeare knew this trait of character; 
and he accordingly has put into the mouths of 
those personages, the very sweetest music that the 
English language could possibly afford. This 
again is another proof of the versatility of his 
genius. He not only wrote in the tragical and 
comical, but (and it is a most difficult one) in the 
amatory style of poetry. The play I am now 
speaking of is the most eloquent instance of it. 
I here remark that since the death of this divine 
bard, there have been but two poets that have 
completely succeeded in this amatory style— 
Byron and Moore. The first unites nerve along 
with voluptuousness—the second, antithesis along 
with brilliancy. It might remain a question for 
the genuine critic (I regret to say a very rare cha¬ 
racter) to decide, which style would be best suited 
to lyrical and amatory poetry. It is in song poetry 
that Moore, pre-eminently and dazzlingly stands 
before every other writer since the days of the Greek 
Anacreon. In this respect I cannot help owning 
that the songs of Shakespeare fade before those of 


28 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


this living Anacreon; and here I am greatly re¬ 
minded of a similarity in style between some of 
the songs of Moore’s great admirer (Byron) and 
the Dirge in the last act of Borneo and Juliet. 
If the critic looks attentively at both, he will find 
a striking similarity. 

Were I to proceed further with these cha¬ 
racters, I perceive I should be led on to an im¬ 
measurable length. It was my intention to have 
separated them and spoken of them in the order 
in which they appear in the title page, thus 
making distinct notices of each; but I found 
them so twined together that I could not well 
disjoin them ; besides, in this age of divorces, it 
would be quite a serious thing, and matter for 
legal (if not critical inquiry) were I to separate 
Mrs. Romeo from her faithful and constant spouse. 
The only thing therefore which I shall further 
remark, is, that the next best drawn character in 
the play is Mercutio; and the fourth, the loqua¬ 
cious nurse. 

, I now enter on more difficult ground—Hamlet. 
This is the most original of the characters created 
by the first of dramatic writers. A quick eye 
may perceive some shades of similarity in others 
of his characters. In this —to this, there are 
none. Neither has Shakespeare himself, nor any 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 29 

succeeding author attempted any imitation. It 
stands alone, unrivalled, and majestic—unimitated 
and inimitable. • 

He who performs Hamlet must be a critic—a 
gentleman—a scholar, and a good actor. He 
must possess a graceful figure, not a fine figure— 
he must have a sweet voice not a strong voice—he 
must be gifted with insinuating manners, not 
genteel manners—he must be a fluent and sweet 
declaimer, and not a turgid and studied one—he 
must possess the most exquisite judgment, and 
along with all these requisites, his acting (for he 
has half a dozen characters to assume) must be 
all nature. These are difficult and appalling 
obstacles; but I unhesitatingly assert that with¬ 
out all these, “ the Prince of Denmark” cannot 
be effectively and completely personated; and 
with them, the character is perfectly and easily 
accomplished. 

Speaking of the acting of this character would 
easily lead me to dilate on the topic; I reserve 
this however for the last pages, and shall proceed 
with this difficult and inimitable creation. 

It strikes me that a good deal of judgment can 
often be perceived in the introduction of a cha¬ 
racter, either on the stage, in a poem, or in a 


30 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


novel. I could adduce a great many instances of 
this nice trait in bringing in a leading character 
to the notice of the reader. There is scarcely any 
novel by that first novel writer of the day—Sir 
W. Scott, which has not this peculiarity, when 
he wishes to bring among his other subordinate 
personages, some leading favourite. There is 
some touch, some trait, some preparation, which 
goes as a forerunner to this favoured person, and 
then his reply or his speech invariably stamps, 
and as it were, lets you in (often in a line) to the 
character of the person. 

There is an instance of this before me. Hamlet 
is introduced along with the king, queen, and 
lords and ladies of the court, but he remains 
silent and thoughtful—wrapped up in his lonely 
and lordly musings on the event which has so 
lately taken place, and which presses so on his 
memory. This is a retired but a striking touch 
of character. Further—he heeds not the glare 
and the show of the court—the flourish of trum¬ 
pets and the pageantry that is passing round 
him; but lost in his reflections he does not speak, 
until spoken to. Then mark the depth and the 
pith of his two first replies—the first spoken so, 
as to be heard, and not to be heard. (The actor 





ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 31 

who does not speak the words thus , speaks them 
wrong.) 

Ham . A little more than kin,* and less than kind. 

King . How is it that the cloud still hangs upon you ? 

Ham . Not so, my Lord; I am too much i’ th’ sun. 

How sententious, and how completely in cha¬ 
racter with his soul, are these replies. The first 
(correctly) breaks in on the speech of the king. 
The second is at once ready and characteristic* 
Join these, with his two following replies to his 
mother, (the last, the best of the four,) and if the 
reader possess anything of quickness, he is at 
once let into the character of Hamlet. In this 
scene (and the words would be incorrect intro¬ 
duced earlier or later in the drama) he speaks the 
first of those inimitable soliloquies, than which, I 
know nothing more masterly in this divine bard* 
This soliloquy is not so hard to speak, as that 
grand piece of elocution and morality— 

To be—or not to be—that is the question. 

The reason of it is, that there must be the most 
acute judgment observed in delivering this last 
one. It is a cold, deep, pithy, moralizing piece of 
oratory, and it is one actor in a thousand that can 


* This is the Teutonick word for child. 



32 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

properly conceive the part. The acting must be 
nothing but nature. Ranting is here (and indeed 
throughout the entire of this masterly character) 
completely done away. I could scarcely conceive 
anything more perfectly sickening than to see “ a 
robustious periwig pated fellow,” go through this 
part with his turgid movements, his grand start¬ 
ings, and his see-saw motions. Hamlet must be 
played differently from all the other characters of 
Shakespeare. If a man does not possess all the 
requisites which X have already mentioned, I again 
repeat that he cannot do this princely and majestic 
personage. 

I said that he who personated him, must assume 
half a dozen characters. He must not only 
assume , but he must sustain them. Here lies the 
difficulty—for—to sustain these characters, he 
must be gifted by nature with all the required 
endowments. There may be some other cha¬ 
racters in these dramas (and perhaps I might be 
ready to admit it) where a fine flourish of hands, 
feet, and legs—a grand movement of some mighty 
fine bombastical arrangement, might for the mo¬ 
ment strike, and perhaps deceive the eye; but in 
the royal Dane, it must be all temperance, and 
smoothness, and grace, and finished deportment. 
The very acutest judgment must be carried 


ESSAY ON. SHAKESPEARE.. 33 

through every line of it; if not, the personation 
degenerates into a sickening nothingness; and 
infinitely sooner would I prefer seeing the cha¬ 
racter regularly and manfully badly performed ; 
than to have my ear tortured and nerves dilapi¬ 
dated by some vile would-be imitating the subli¬ 
mity of it, and “ curtailing it of its fair propor¬ 
tions. 

I spoke of the different shades of character of 
Hamlet. Hamlet is a gentleman—mark his de¬ 
meanour through the entire of the play. Hamlet 
is a critic—mark his inimitable directions to the 
players. Hamlet is a scholar—various passages 
of the drama evince it. Hamlet possessed insi r 
nuating manners—read his suasive addresses to 
the lovely Ophelia, and contrast her opinions and 
ideas of him. Hamlet possessed a graceful 
figure—vide act iii. scene 1. f€ The glass of 
fashion and the mould of form; the observed of 
all observers.” Hamlet was a master of the 
graceful art of fencing—vide last act. Hamlet 
was a keen observer of human nature—take his 
pithy and correct remarks on man and the world, 
as examples of this. Hamlet appears in the cha¬ 
racter of the lover —(and to a critic’s eye, this is 
quite a distinct personation)—mark his love for 


D 



34 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


Ophelia, and read these exquisite lines to her 
brother—- 

I loved Ophelia; forty thousand brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love, 

Make up my surm What wilt thou do for her ? 

The reader will allow me to call his attention to 
the three first words here —so simple, so striking, 

I loved Ophelia! 

Hamlet was a “ courtier, soldier, and scholar/'’ 
The play tells us so. Hamlet assumed (and suc¬ 
cessfully maintained) the character of a madman. 

I have here shown Hamlet in a variety of cha¬ 
racters. This last observation however opens 
somewhat of a wider field to me. 

I have heard it remarked by many, and have 
further perused laborious papers on the subject; 
that the madness of Hamlet was not assumed, 
but was real! This is a proposition which I 
must endeavour to distinctly combat; nor can I 
at all see, on what fair and tenable grounds, the 
supporters of such proposition can rest their argu¬ 
ments. It strikes me that the play is completely 
altered—the characters excessively lessened—the 
power and intellect of Hamlet made a nothing of— 
if this proposition can be made valid. How t 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


35 


greatly does Hamlet degenerate, if we consider 
his reason to be impaired. How far does he fall 
below that lordly (and I may add) majestic de¬ 
portment—that high and grand solitariness of sen¬ 
timent—that graceful and winning demeanour—- 
which the poet has so nobly depicted him in, if 
we suppose him to be—an ideot. Look now on 
the other side of the picture. Suppose him not 
mad. Suppose him to be in full exercise of those 
powers of reasoning, and that depth of intellect 
which is the noblest gift of man; and then 
observe how much more highly he appears in our 
esteem. This view of the portrait, makes him 
Hamlet —that view of it, makes him almost the 
meanest character in the play. Yet again. I un¬ 
hesitatingly assert that to assume and 'perform well 
on the stage, the character of either a madman or a 
drunkard, is one of the very hardest exertions in 
the histrionic art. This was one of Garrick’s 
(Garrick—thou unimitated ! thou inimitable !) 
most excelling personations. Every would-be 
actor thinks this, an excessively easy thing. I 
have seen some of them imitate the drunkard and 
the madman, and they have done it so abominably, 
that I have often shut my eyes, or else taken up 
the play bill and read it over about one hundred 

n 2 


36 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


times. Why is it hard to perform? Because the 
drunkard and the madman have thoughts, actions, 
opinions, conceits, and movements quite different 
from the every day persons that we meet in real life. 
They have, as it were, a world of their own. 
Judgment then (not taste —for taste and judgment 
are two perfectly distinct things) and true his¬ 
trionic talent are absolutely necessary in perso¬ 
nating either of these characters. 

Now make the madness of Hamlet real , and 
you take away from him an excelling merit in the 
character. Make it assumed , and you give him 
this merit. But what are the facts (and as I am 
an unworthy follower of the Bar, I shall prove 
perverse and say, I must have facts) I say where 
are the facts which tell us that the madness of 
Hamlet is real ? I have read the play over and 
over again to try and discover these said impor¬ 
tant facts, but I must confess unto the mad manu¬ 
facturers of poor Hamlet that I could not even get 
a single tenable one which would hold good in any 
court of justice in His Britannic (or even Danish) 
Majesty’s dominions — even though I got my 
sharpest wits and keenest Dollond spectacles to 
assist me in the search, backed too by a formal 
writ of—“ De lunatico inquirendoP 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


37 


What is almost the first expression of Hamlet 
to Horatio and Marcellus ? Let us bring it into 
court. 

Come here;- 

How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself 
As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
To put an antic disposition on— 

That you never shall note, that you know aught 
Of me. 

Yet again— 

Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore: your 
hands ; you are welcome but my uncle-father, and 
my aunt-mother are deceived. 

And again— 

It is not madness 
That I have uttered : bring me to the test 
And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
Would gambol from. 

It is not my intention to bring up any more ex¬ 
tracts than these few lines from this play. I 
consider even these, perfectly sufficient to establish 
the proposition which I have laid down; and I 
feel I would be but wasting both my time and my 
ink (and like Cowper’s inkstand it is almost dried 
in the sun) were I to waste either, in attempting 
to establish a self-evident proposition.” I how- 



38 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


ever do not want to prove an unfair antagonist. 
If any “ literary lady or gentleman ” should 
choose to enter the lists with me, (for I know, 
many entertain the opinion,) I can pledge myself 
to them, that I shall endeavour to answer their 
arguments by more copious extracts, and more 
pressing proofs, should they favour me with any 
reply to this essay. Let me now return to Hamlet 
and his “ fair Ophelia.” 

Hamlet was possessed of both taste and judg¬ 
ment. His remarks to the players confirm the 
first—his demeanor to the king and queen, the 
last. I know scarcely any thing which evinces so 
much taste, so much nice discrimination, such 
delicacy of conception, as his “ advice to 
the players.” (Oh ! would that it were better 
attended to now-a-days.) In this, is set down the 
every precept which a finished actor should re¬ 
quire ; and so difficult is it for one man to unite 
in himself all the requisites which are there so 
nicely put forth, that only one man has been able 
to come up to, and obey them all; for there was 
no shade of character, either in tragedy or co¬ 
medy that he could not perform. 

I said that the love addresses of Hamlet to 
Ophelia were slightly touched, but done with a 
master’s hand. I think the following excessively 




ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


39 


beautiful, and greatly admire the ease with which 
he turns from the depth and morality of his 
soliloquy, to the beautiful form which crosses his 
sight. 

Soft you, now! 

The fair Ophelia:—nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all my sins remembered. 

Oph. Good, my Lord, 

How does your honour for this many a day ? 

Ham . I humbly thank you; well. 

The reader of taste will perceive the soft and 
suasive expressions in the first lines. He will 
further allow me to call his attention to the word 
“ humbly,” and the slight hesitation or pause, (the 
actor who does not see this, leaves out a beauty,) 
before the word “ well.” Put any other word in 
the place of “ humbly,” and though it may express 
the politesse of Hamlet, it cannot give it the half 
mad, half sensible turn, which that single word 
conveys; and which it was Hamlet’s intention to 
convey to his interesting interlocutor. As another 
instance of what I am speaking of, I adduce the 
Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 

This, if possible, is more masterly than the 
former; though I have often endeavoured to drill 
into the thick pates of many of my companions 
where the beauty in it lay, which they would fain 



40 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

aflirm was gross and irrelevant. Shall I endea¬ 
vour to explain where the judgment of this line 
lies ? and I do fervently pray if I have got any 
aforesaid thick-pated animal reading my book, 
that he will even forthwith (but good humouredly) 
put it by. 

The company are all assembled to see the play 
performed which Hamlet gets up for the purpose 
of “ touching the conscience of the king.” Here 
there is need of his utmost discretion and judg¬ 
ment, for the purpose of carrying on the plot of 
his assumed madness. If he addressed Ophelia 
untowardly and rudely, he would forsake his cha¬ 
racter both of courtier and gentleman. If he ad¬ 
dressed her without some mixture of waywardness, 
he could not carry on his design. He therefore 
prefaces the blunt and amorous question in the 
above line, by the complimentary words of 

No, good mother; here’s metal more attractive. 

and then he immediately turns to his fair inter¬ 
locutor, and says. 

Lady, shall I lie in your lap? 

There is inimitable propriety in both these lines. 
The last is a difficult line to speak correctly. I 
shall here remark to the reader, that I once heard 
a gentleman (in a drawing-room,) change this 




ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


41 


last line, and place the verb in the potential mood, 
thus. 

Lady, may I lie in your lap ? 

It struck me that this (at least the way he pro¬ 
nounced it,) had more of insinuation in it; and 
as we have got a great many readings of different 
parts of this celebrated poet, I mention this to the 
judicious actor for his perusal and observation. 
Had Hamlet at first said, 

Lady, shall I lie at your feet ? 

it would have been all insinuation, and no way¬ 
wardness. But spoken as it is, it indescribably 
gives us that mixture of politesse and forgetful¬ 
ness, which it certainly was the author’s intention 
to evince; nor can I by any means suppose 
that it was the intention of our author to give the 
following construction to this line, which con¬ 
struction, I have heard some say it bears, viz. 
“ Lady, let me lie down at your feet, and then be 
kind enough to let me put my head in your lap 
and even though thus mentioned afterwards, (in 
some editions) it does not impugn the first reading 
of the line. It is awkward and distorted, nor 
does it evince any judgment in the writer. If we 
look at the line as above construed, it shows judg¬ 
ment (that pre-eminent quality) both in the cha- 


42 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE 


racter and the creator of it. The scene from 
which I have taken these lines, is in the third act. 
This and the fifth are the two hardest acts for a 
judicious performer to get through in this admi¬ 
rable drama. In them it is pre-eminently neces¬ 
sary— 

“ To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.” 

I have heard some advance, that the acting of 
Hamlet should all be governed by art. This is a 
dangerous argument to go on. If so, where is 
nature ? If art governs the performer in his per¬ 
sonation of Hamlet, then there is not the slightest 
use whatever in natural acting, which, I am simple 
and untutored enough to look on, as the greatest 
grace —the chiefest ornament—the only recom¬ 
mendation to the finished actor. To he a finished 
actor, is, indeed, a hard thing; it requires colle¬ 
giate education — gentlemanly manners—know¬ 
ledge of the world—immense versatility of mind— 
genuine talent—and eminent taste and eminent 
judgment. With these, a man can claim respect 
from an appreciating and discerning public, but 
without them, he treads hazardous ground, who 
attempts to personify Shakespeare and Otway, 
and has not the requisites I enumerate. 

Shall I look on Hamlet (in parts of the play) 
in another character ? If we allow his madness to 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


43 


be assumed, (and I do not plainly see to the con¬ 
trary) he appears in the light of an amateur per¬ 
former. That he had a taste for the drama ap¬ 
pears from his directions to the players—the 
action and emphasis (as well as the fidelity of 
his memory) in his quotation of Pyrrhus to the 
first actor—and his desire to have the players 
well lodged, and properly provided for. This is 
another respect in which this character bears the 
impress of an original. There is no other play 
which has a character of this cast in it. There is 
no other author who has attempted to place his 
hero in this commanding and teaching position. 
He tells the others exactly, nay critically, what to 
do; so that if he fails himself in his part of the 
drama, he but brings greater judgment against 
himself—another reason why the character of 
Hamlet can never be performed by a would-be 
actor. 

I further spoke of much being expressed in a 
single line. This author has a wonderful facility 
in doing so. I here more particularly allude to 
the first lines which his characters speak, and 
these first lines are often extremely difficult to 
deliver. I adduce the following. 

A little more than kin, and less than kind. 

So foul and fair a day, I have not seen. 




44 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


Three thousand ducats—Well ? 

It’s better as it is. 

I pray you, is Signor Montanto returned from the 
wars, or no ? 

My noble Lord, did Michael Cassio, when you wooed 
my Lady, 

Know of your love ? 

(Theseus . Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.) 

Hermia. So is Lysander. 

Is the day so young ?—Ah me ! sad hours seem 
long. 

What shall I say ?—I cannot bring my tongue 

To such a pace. 

What would ye have, ye curs, that like nor peace 
nor war ?* 

If it be love indeed tell me how much, 

There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned. 

A quick eye will instantly glean from looking 
at these lines (and comparing them with what 
surrounds them) the kinds of characters which 
follow. They are the prefaces, as it were, to the 
beautiful books of “ men and manners ” which 
the creator opens to you; and with true discrimi- 

* This line (simple as it appears,) is, perhaps, the 
hardest in this drama to act. Coriolanus cannot be 
acted now . John Kemble is gone, and who is it that 
does not regret him. 




ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


45 


nate tact—with genuine insight into mankind, he 
shows you, even in a line (Oh, thou excelling 
poet!) the disposition, force, bent—the complete 
temperament of either the hero or heroine which 
he intends developing to the delighted eye, with 
either the vivid colouring of his boundless fancy, 
or the creative strokes of his almighty invention. 
I am not aware that this beautiful (but hidden) 
touch of the master has been noticed before. 
I think it eminently striking. It is a touch of 
nature which I have never discovered in the 
would-be poet. You are obliged to wade through 
his characters to try and make them out. The 
master shows you at once what his creative pencil 
is going to develope on the glowing canvass—lets 
you in by this fine but hurried dash of that en¬ 
chanting pencil what the scene and the character 
are to be which he is going to embody. Mark 
the intrusive question of the playful but proud 
Beatrice, 

I pray you is Signor Montanto returned from the wars, 
or no ? 

This question is put at a time when nobody in 
the company (mark this) was expecting the query ; 
but her meddling spirit was busy—was on the 
stretch to hear about the very man whom she 



46 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


doats on, and yet (out of womanish pride) hates ! 
Let me follow this again. Benedict comes in. 
He does not immediately address Beatrice. Now 
the young scamp (what else am I to call her) is 
dying to talk to him, and with the infinite cun¬ 
ning of woman she pretends to abuse him, 
merely to give herself an opportunity of speaking 
to the very man, that I feel perfectly confident she 
would have liked to have kissed!—aye kissed , 
reader, and if you are a female who are perusing 
these critiques, my knowledge of you deceives 
me, if I do not say so correctly . Here is the 
notable address : 

I wonder that you will still be talking Signor 
Benedict; nobody marks you . 

Though she was “ marking ” every word he 
uttered. I call these two instances in this cha¬ 
racter, excelling nature. How completely, too, is 
the thoughtful lover recognized instantly in the 
two or three words— 

Ah me! sad hours seem long. 

Mark also the first words of Hamlet—the sen¬ 
tentious and keen first words of Hamlet. They 
tell what was brooding in his mind. They are 
in a manner the “ prologue ” to the “ play” 
which he was forming and planning in his lonely 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


47 


and melancholy hours. But the opening words 
of Iago to Othello are pre-eminently striking. 
Mark the depth—the fawning solicitude—the 
suasive but serpent-like query of. 

My noble Lord, did Michael Cassio, when you 

Wooed my Lady, know of your love ? 

The reader will please remark it is not 
“ my lord/’ but “ my nohle lord.” The words, 
“ so is Lysander,” appear nothing; but if the 
reader will look over the first act of the play, he 
will instantly see why Hermia spoke them. The 
two last lines (in the sentences) which I have 
quoted are from the play of Anthony and Cleo¬ 
patra. How expressive are they of the mild and 
unrestrained love of each. In this play I have 
read scenes and passages on which I am confident 
Byron in a great measure formed himself—at least 
took instruction from. The following line recalls 
something of his lawless and lustful magnificence 
to me, but goes infinitely beyond him. 

Eternity was in our lips and eyes! 

There is but one line in the English language 
which rivals this. It is from the divine Milton : 

Imparadised within each other's arms ! 

I perceive I am digressing. But Shakespeare 


48 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE, 


is inexhaustible. You can scarcely wander from 
him; for wherever you turn—whatever book you 
open, (if the scenes and characters are drawn from 
nature ,) there is the master before you. All 
authors—all eminent poets draw from him. He 
is the overflowing and unsullied fountain, whose 
eternal freshness and inexhaustible springs ferti¬ 
lize and make glad whatever they run through. 
All read Shakespeare. All make extracts from 
him. All understand him. And why ? Nature was 
his goddess. Nature was his preceptress. Nature 
was his hallowed divinity; and with the vivid touch 
of her inspiration—with the glowing fervour of her 
enchantment—with that boundless and unlimited 
command which she delegated to her darling, 
he wrote, he sketched, he delighted, he asto¬ 
nished ! 

Bard of divinity ! master of the heart! thou 
excelling poet of passion and feeling, what 
was not at thy command ? Fear, hope, joy, 
sorrow, anger, hate, were all at thy sovereign 
disposal! and even in the soft and subduing 
passion of love—Oh, who doth go beyond thee ! 
Is not thy pencil watered with the very tears of 
the maid, when sorrow would speak her heart ? 
and is not it dipped in the bright colours of thy 
vivid fancy when it would depict “ beauty in 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


49 


smiles ?” Hast thou not a magic music in that 
harp which heaven gave thee, and dost thou not 
run over, and thrill on its chords with a richness 
and a ravishment that the heart—the heart bows 
to and delighted owns ! Where is the master 
that has come after thee—where he that has gone 
before thee ? who has dared to touch those chords, 
over which an immortality doth hover!—No ! 
There, at the foot of that throne on which thou 
sittest in unapproachable divinity, there doth that 
harp lie unswept—untouched—unawakened ! mor¬ 
tal hath struck it but once ; mortal cannot strike 
it again! 

But hark! the forlorn Ophelia is singing. 

He is dead and gone, Lady, 

He is dead and gone; 

At his head a grass green turf. 

At his heels a stone. 

There is exquisite beauty in this verse. There 
are two things which strike me in it. First, the 
sorrow which is expressed by the mournful itera¬ 
tion of the first line. Second, the inattention 
which is paid to the metre. A musical ear will 
instantly perceive the disparity of the numbers in 
the songs of Ophelia, and in this verse it is only the 
second and fourth lines which rhyme. Correctly. 
If Shakespeare had studied these songs, it would 


60 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


have evinced no acquaintance with human nature. 
The master knew this, and with true discrimina¬ 
tion, he writes as if he almost forgot metre, for, 
when did madness study? Listen to the wild but 
touching mournfulness—the irregular but over¬ 
whelming sorrow that his fingers strike from this 
harp of beauty, in the following heart-broken 
lines: 

They bore him barefaced on the bier, 

And on the grave rain’d many a tear; 

Fare you well, my dove ! 

It is the false steward that stole his master’s daugh¬ 
ter. There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; Pray 
you, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for 
thoughts. There’s fennel for you, (to the king.) 
There’s rue for you, (to the queen,) and here’s some 
for me; there’s a daisy ; I would give you some violets, 
but they wither’d all when my father died. They 
say he made a good end. (Sings.) 

For my bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. 

And will he not come again ? 

And will he not come again ? 

No, no, he is dead, 

Go to thy death bed, 

He never will come again ! 

I challenge the best dramatic writers of either 
Italy, Germany, or England, to produce lines 




ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


51 


which shall surpass these for truth and nature. I 
know nothing more moving—nothing more mourn¬ 
ful than these slight, evanescent, but inimi¬ 
table touches of misery and madness. She is in¬ 
troduced with flowers—ever the delight of the 
madwoman—and she gives fennel to the king— 
rue to the queen—and rue to herself (correctly,) 
and then she says that she would give them some 
violets, but (mark the exquisite turn) “ They 
wither'd all when my father died /” she then kneels 
down and sings, still repeating and still turning 
on the same question. The reader will please 
mark the abstraction of the third line. She sings 
it to herself; and as if she forgot all the gaudy 
and gorgeous personages around her, tells herself 
to go and lie down on her death bed! because , 

He never will come again ! 

I scarcely know where Shakespeare appears 
more eloquent in this play, than in this inimitable 
sketch of the fond, timid, deep loving, brain-warped 
Ophelia. He has drawn her a beautiful young 
creature with fond feelings and gentle disposition 
—unknown in the ways of the world, and as it 
were, unconscious of the charms and the beauty 
she possessed. Her heart is captivated by that 
most noble and eminently finished portrait, which 

e 2 


52 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE 


he has chosen for the hero of his play, and so 
alive is she to anything that concerns him , that 
even the feigning of madness in the object of her 
affections, strikes on her tender heart, and crushes 
it. # I here must not omit to turn to the first 
words 'which she utters, and I again find nature 
speaking: 

Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ? 

The word “ beauteous” particularly strikes me. 
It is so fond and womanish, and also , so perfectly 
irrelevant and maniacal; for what woman in her 
senses would rush into a court and ask for a 

* I adduce this as another instance of the difficulty 
that lies in performing Hamlet. He who cannot per¬ 
form this scene inimitably well (personating madness) 
cannot carry on the illusion; for how can the mind 
suppose Ophelia to lose her senses, unless Hamlet 
makes her believe that he is mad. I again repeat that 
there is no character in Shakespeare, in the perform¬ 
ance of which there is so much exquisite judgment 
required as that of Hamlet. 

I also remark, that in one of Ophelia’s songs, there 
is an incorrect rhyme. “ Valence” rhymes to “ be- 
time .” This is the only instance of complete caco¬ 
phony in the poetry of Shakespeare. It would be 
completely hypercritical to say, this was done pur¬ 
posely. It was done unknowingly, and proves the 
hurry in which the bard composed. 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


53 


beauteous lover? But make her mad, and then 
see how appropriate is the adjective. Following 
the idea which is above suggested to me, I again 
turn to that part of the play where Ophelia is first 
introduced, and here I find her character developed 
(mark the power that sketched) in one short 
scene. I follow it throughout. 

Ophelia and Laertes are introduced. The 
latter takes leave of her, and requests of her to 
write to him. She instantly replies with a sister’s 
affection : 

Do you doubt that ? 

I here remark, that instead of making a long 
speech to him, she answers him by interrogatory, 
at once short and sisterly. Her brother then pro¬ 
ceeds to tell her of ** Hamlet’s favour,” and 
cautions her from indulging in his fascinating 
society too much. The following is her reply— 
gentle and sensible. 

I shall the effect of this good lesson keep 
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 
Do not as some ungracious pastors do. 

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 

Whilst like a reckless libertine 

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 

And recks not his own road. 


54 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


Her father is here introduced, and having caught 
the last words of Ophelia to her brother, he asks 
what it was Laertes was advising her about. Ophe¬ 
lia, like a true woman, tries to evade the query, 
and timidly, merely glances at their discourse. 

So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. 

This is another trait of character, and the 
actress who does not speak the line as above, 
speaks it incorrectly. Her father perceives she is 
somewhat avoiding him, and he accordingly says, 
“ Give me up the truth.” As she then must 
declare it, she tells the secret, and puts the word 
“ affection ” in place of love . Mark the correct¬ 
ness of this. 

He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders 

Of his affection to me. 

Polonius rallies her on this, and says that she 
speaks like an inexperienced girl. He then asks 
her, if she could rely on the proffers he had made 
her ? Her answer to this is a very master-piece of 
nature and character , and the reader will please 
observe, that both are distinct. 

I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 

Can anything be more completely girlish—more 
sweetly feminine, than these simple words. Had she 
made a long speech on the (to her) important subject. 




ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


55 


it would have disgusted any ear of taste ; but this 
single and simple line is a touch of nature, than 
which I know nothing finer in the drama. I 
proceed. 

Polonius, on hearing her make this inexperi¬ 
enced declaration, tells her, that he will tell her 
“ what to think.” He desires her to be cautious 
in receiving the addresses of Hamlet, and informs 
her that she “ has taken these tenders for true 
pay, which are not sterling.” She instantly per¬ 
ceives that her father is about to discountenance 
the entire proceeding, and assuredly thinking that 
nothing could be dishonourable in the noble and 
finished courtier who had won her heart, she 
exclaims. 

My Lord, he hath importuned me with love 

In honourable fashion. 

Polonius seems to laugh at her credulity, and 
says, “ go to—go to.” Again she harps on the 
word —again with the confiding fondness of youth 
and innocence, she tells of his vows and con¬ 
stancy. 

And hath given countenance to his speech, my Lord, 

With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 

These are delightful touches from the pencil of 
the master . There are two things which I have 




56 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


here to remark. When she finds that Polonius is 
going to blame her, for her too yielding confi¬ 
dence, she instantly drops the cold word of 
“ affection,” and introduces the stronger word of 
“ love”—telling him he must be in earnest, as it 
is “ love in honourable fashion” The second 
thing, is, that she joins her replies together— 

And hath given countenance, &c. &c. 

Thus making it appear as if she did not heed 
(or could not heed) any word which her father 
might interpose, and as if she wanted to press on 
him another argument which her girlish simplicity 
thought would be conclusive. I am perfectly 
delighted with these exquisite strokes of nature. 
I here caution any vile actress from mangling 
these two replies, by pronouncing them coldly, 
and by repeating the first, without a mixture of 
surprize, which is difficult to delicately catch. I 
had the happiness of seeing this character per¬ 
formed once, (and but once, in Ireland,) and it 
was executed so barbarously, that the only thing 

I recollect respecting poor Ophelia, was-that 

it was performed by a woman. But to proceed. 

Polonius still remains unbelieving. All her 
arguments—all her woman’s rhetoric cannot shake 
the crafty experience of the old man. He there- 





ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


57 


fore openly tells her, to give neither “ words nor 
talk to the Lord Hamletand desires her to, 
“ Look to ’t.” The reply which she makes, still 
preserves her character. Had she once more 
attempted to remonstrate with her father, the 
interest of the character would be taken away, for 
it would have evinced her to be stiff and head¬ 
strong. Mark the gentle reply. 

I shall obey, my Lord. 

There is both sorrow and compliance expressed 
in these five words. He also correctly takes her 
off the stage, as if to let her in quiet feel the 
check which had been so suddenly given to her 
fond hopes. Here then is the entire character of 
Ophelia (at least to one who has ear and soul for 
strokes of nature) completely developed in one 
scene. I know nothing more gentle—more elo¬ 
quent—more delightful—more fraught with the 
first tremblings of love and the trusting confi¬ 
dence of woman, than these single but pre¬ 
eminent touches of skill and mastery. All her 
replies are short—and all in character . How 
beautiful is the sister —the daughter —and the lover 
preserved throughout. How winning and how 
gentle—how tender and how fond—how submis¬ 
sive, and how perfectly woman , does she here 


58 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


appear. The reader will perhaps require to look 
over it again. Like a beautiful and finished 
painting though, its master touches can never 
tire. I again introduce her. 

She appears in the palace with all the lords and 
ladies of the court. Here her gentleness is again 
apparent, and her only remark is, “ Madam, I 
wish it may,” to the queen who hopes that by 
her interference, Hamlet may again resume his 
senses. The king and queen, &c. &c. retire. 
Ophelia, remains. Hamlet enters and speaks that 
noble soliloquy, “ To be or not to be.” Ophelia 
comes forward, and requests of Hamlet to take 
back from her those remembrances, which in hours 
of love, he had bestowed on her. Hamlet (to 
carry on his plot) says he never gave her any¬ 
thing. Her reply to this sudden declaration, is 
full of suavity and fondness. 

My honoured Lord, you know right well you did; 

And with them words of so sweet breath compared, 

As made the things more rich.* Their perfume lost 

Take these again ; for to the noble mind 

* I have altered the punctuation of this line— 
putting a period at 44 rich.” If the colon or semi¬ 
colon are retained; it does not keep the words and 
sense so distinct. 




ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


59 


Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 

There,, my Lord. 

Mark here, the love of “ my honoured Lord”— 
the assuring testimony of, “ You know right 
well ”—and the fond compliment of, “ words of 
so sweet breath compared.” This appears easy to 
deliver. It is difficult. The difficulty lies in the 
first and last lines. 

Hamlet proceeds to partly moralize with her, 
and draws some distinction between beauty and 
honesty, which she beautifully answers in one 
line. He then concludes by the startling words, 
“ I did love you once.” She instantly replies. 

Indeed, my Lord, you made me believe so. 

This is excessively natural. The force of the 
line lies in the word “ indeed:” and the person 
who repeats it, should notice this, taking care to 
also lay an emphasis on the word “ made.” And 
yet this emphasis should not be so distinct as that 
on the word “ indeed.” If I could so express it, 
I would say, it should be mezzo forte. It is these 
finished and delicate modulations of accent and 
manner that mark the true actor or actress. 

Hamlet (still carrying on his plot) now breaks 
out into more decisive language, and tells her, 
“ he did not love her.” How simple, but how 


60 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


touching is her reply to the fatal declaration 
which warps her brain— 

“ I was the more deceived!” 

There are volumes in this, and it is conse¬ 
quently the most difficult line in this scene to 
deliver. She then exclaims, when she sees him 
using such untoward words and gestures— 

Oh help him you sweet* heavens! 

He again rallies her, and again her love breaks 
out for him in prayer— 

Oh heavenly powers restore him! 

Hamlet runs off, after again speaking to her in 
disjointed sentences, and the words which she 
then utters are full both of love and sorrow. 

Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! 

The expectancy and rose of the fair state. 

The glass of fashion and the mould of form, 

The observed of all observers, quite, quite down ! 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched. 

That sucked the honey of his music vows, 

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 

Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh. 

Oh, woe is me ! 

* The reader will please mark the force of “ sweet.” 
1 cannot omit a word even in this divine bard. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


61 


I conclude these extracts by again repeating 
that this is one of Shakespeare’s most beautifully 
drawn female portraits. With the exception of 
his Juliet, I know nothing beyond it for love, for 
tenderness, for constancy, and feminine sweetness. 
I shall now dismiss her (unwillingly I own) but 
must not forget to remark that her madness does 
not proceed from her father’s death, (though I 
have heard it said that it does,) but from a con¬ 
viction that the madness of Hamlet was real. 
Her innocence and tenderness could not endure 
the harshness of his conduct, and the unexpected 
turn which his deportment towards her takes; and 
she in consequence falls a victim—a victim too in 
the flower of her youth and her beauty, to a plot 
which the “ purpose of his soul” would not 
allow him to swerve from. Gentleness seems to 
be the predominant quality of this interesting 
heroine. She wants the fervid warmth and power¬ 
ful passion of “ Julietand therefore her heart 
is at once sensibly affected even by the first mad 
addresses of Hamlet to her; and I know scarcely 
anything in a young female (before she is led into 
the world) more attractive or pleasing than a gentle 
demeanour. 

I must not here omit to remark, that other 
writers may, by the help of a fervid imagination. 


62 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


throw together a splendid train of artificial images 
unfounded in nature, which please for a moment 
by their lustre and novelty; soon, though the 
mental eye becomes dazzled by the former, and 
fatigued from the latter. The mind strains itself 
to follow the flights of the author, but wearied by 
the effort, gladly descends to seek repose in the 
scenes of Shakespeare, painted with the faithful 
pencil of nature. The pictures of life and man¬ 
ners, drawn by most other writers, are impro¬ 
bable, unnatural, and distorted. Their characters 
are modified in every respect, foreign to real life, 
and are furnished with such qualities, passions, 
sentiments, actions, and situations, as are totally 
distinct from what mankind has ever experienced. 
In many tragedies, passion is converted into an 
instrument for the display of the author’s powers 
of description; and the ever changing extensive¬ 
ness of character is constrained into fixed rules 
and modes; for each person must be eminently 
virtuous, wise, or brave; or infamously depraved, 
weak, or mean. Instead of the sudden burst of 
anger, short, rapid, eager, and incoherent; we 
find the tardy pomp of declamation, and the ela¬ 
borate arrangement of style. Instead of the ex¬ 
pressive silence of grief, the suppressed sigh, the 
half uttered groan, the concise and piercing ex- 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


63 


clamation that breaks from the wounded-heart, 
we find a wearisome detail of grievances, and 
tedious, studied complainings, industriously po¬ 
lished with the trappings of partial imagery. I 
have heard and read of the passion of love, and I 
dare say it has sometimes actually appeared in the 
world, but if it has ever stormed, and ranted, and 
flamed, and raved; if it has ever flown to the 
empyrean realms of ecstacy, or sunk into the 
hideous abyss of despair, as it is represented by 
some of our grand novels, our scenic furiosos, 
and our tremendous actors, I might venture to 
believe that it is in bedlam alone we could expect 
to find it. Have I not heard the unmeaning 
plaudits of the multitude follow the plays of the 
Castle Spectre, Blue Beard, the Barmecide, and 
such other dramatic monsters? Have I not heard 
the novel-read Miss, with a head that could not 
discern, and a heart that could not feel, expatiate 
—enlarge—dilate on their merits in the hackneyed 
phrases of, “ fine language, elegant sentiment! 
beautiful thoughts! delightful! sublime! hea¬ 
venly !” And when I have expected to be en¬ 
lightened by the manly observations of the firm 
and accurate judgment of a male critic on the 
plot, the characters, the passions, the incident, the 
dialogue, the conduct of the play; my ear has 




64 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


been disgusted with some trite and idle exclama¬ 
tion of praise in dilating on some bombastic pas¬ 
sage, whose chief excellence is, that it has a 
number of sounding words, heterogeneously strung 
together to serve as a cumbersome unadapted 
dress to “ some unmeaning thing they call a 
thought.” 

Among the numerous commendations bestowed 
on Pizzaro, I have heard the loudest attributed 
to a part, which the laws of nature and just cri¬ 
ticism would direct to be for ever suppressed. 
Rolla, in the fervour of enthusiastic friendship, im¬ 
patient to execute his purpose, resolves on the 
salvation of Alonza’s life by the sacrifice of his 
own. When he has gained admittance, however, 
to his friend’s cell, over whose head fate hangs 
menacing and prepared to strike, (perhaps the 
next moment,) he stays calmly and deliberately 
to cull the flowers of poetry for the purpose of 
manufacturing an address to nature, and to tell, 
in a very philosophical manner to the audience, 
that the vulture is as careful of her young as the 
ring-dove. This might do very well in descriptive 
poetry, but there is in it nothing of the drama— 
nothing of nature —nothing of Shakespeare. 

Mr. Sheridan made this very injudicious altera¬ 
tion. Rolla in the original merely utters a concise 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


65 


ejaculation, at once sufficient and natural —such 
too, as the occasion would obviously call forth . 
But Sheridan, as a manager, knew what would 
please; and it is clear he consulted in the whole 
undertaking more his pocket than his head* At 
the same time, I believe it to be one of the most 
beautiful specimens of the romantic drama that 
exists. There are some of the scenes most strik¬ 
ingly thrown together—and some of them which 
(to use common language) run away with the heai't. 
I instance the last scene between Rolla and Pizzaro, 
and particularly when the former drops the dagger 
at the feet of Pizzaro. There is also powerful 
scenic delineation in the snatching of the child 
and sword, and the dropping dead at Cora’s 
feet. 

Still, though, would I doubt if it could 
shelter itself beneath the Aristotelian rules of the 
drama; nor can it claim those allowances to which 
Shakespeare’s true delineation and unity of cha¬ 
racter, and faithful, masterly display of the pas¬ 
sions amply entitle him. Does it not appear a 

* I find it a most ungrateful task to say anything 
against my most favourite comic writer; and I shall 
excuse myself by saying that he was the translator, 
not the author of the play. 


F 


66 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


matter of astonishment that that writer who emi¬ 
nently united in his character, the orator, the 
statesman, and the dramatist; who was so capable 
of guiding the public taste to “ the greatest ends 
by the justest means,” and of blessing the literary 
world with the beautiful and vigorous issue of his 
own brain, should condescend to be the fosterer of 
a foreign and feeble progeny. Some of Kotzebue’s 
admirers have drawn a parallel between him and 
Shakespeare, but (with a just exception to the 
beautiful play of the “ Count of Burgundy—there 
are also some fine touches in “ the Stranger ”) I 
can trace but feeble marks of similitude, save that 
they are both authors and dramatists; but we 
should remember that though the sovereign oak 
which seeks the skies, and the lowly hawthorn 
which grovels on the earth are both trees , yet how 
remotely different are they in nature, excellence, 
and greatness! 

Speaking of this difference, induces me also to 
compare the characters of those writers who daub and 
scratch away for the purpose of filling up a circulat¬ 
ing library, or killing the time of a miss vapid. If 
they can get tears to flow, and sighs to swell by being 
mighty distressing, mighty pretty, mighty magna¬ 
nimous, (without one touch of nature ,) why, 
they think they may rank themselves with a 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


67 


Scott or a Goldsmith. What I would chiefly 
point the asperity of the critic and the moralist 
against, is that host of monstrous and despicable 
productions named novels , that daily issue from 
the press. In them we see characters whose feli¬ 
city and misery are directed to objects ; and pro¬ 
moted, retarded, and fulfilled by means which 
never affect mankind. They are placed in situa¬ 
tions which have never occurred in the drama of 
life, and are preserved therein, or delivered there¬ 
from by a concurrence of circumstances, causes, 
and effects, such as human nature never will 
know and never can know. Their motiyes of 
action are irrational and absurd—their passions are 
forced and unnatural—their virtues and vices are 
ever in the extreme—and their object^ and feel¬ 
ings inconsistent with man’s nature and man’s 
conduct. Still this mass of absurdity is rendered 
more worthless by the poverty and sameness of 
thought—the florid feebleness of language—the 
incongruous combinations of style—the expanded 
nothingness—and the ridiculous pictures of never 
seen life. It is to the reading of such works 
therefore, that we may trace in a great measure 
that frivolity of employment—that imbecility and 
vacuity of mind—that fantastic extravagance and 
intolerance of thought and action which charac- 

f 2 


68 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


terize that rank of people, who, being elevated 
above the dread of want, the censures of their 
neighbours, and the necessity of thinking for them¬ 
selves, seek, during one half of their time, a 
refuge from self in these books, and waste the 
other in the frantic whirl of folly. 

I perceive I have made a digression, and have 
no doubt, shall accordingly be blamed for it. As 
my foot is already, then, on the path, I think I may 
as well tread away and make a good fault at once. 

From this general censure I must except the 
writings of d’Arblay, Radcliffe, and Bennett. (Scott 
I have mentioned before, besides I cannot class him 
with women*) The first has done all that genius 
enlisted beneath the banner of taste and virtue could 
do. When the second lady wrote her Udolpho, she 
should have ceased to write. In that work are 
displayed the wild and captivating treasure of 
fancy—the luxuriance and variety of scenery—the 
fair and picturesque charm of description — the 
awful terrors of romantic shades and superstitious 
gloom, and the thrilling scenery of forests, seas, 
cliffs, ivied towers, and mouldering ruins; in short, 
all that the sportive ardour of imagination could 
desire to revel in, and all that could awaken that 

* Heaven help me ! if the ladies see this censure. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


69 


secret, indefinable, and powerful emotion—that 
fearful and chilling, yet pleasing and resistless 
desire which draws the human breast towards 
what is mysterious and terrible. Though the 
mind, however, is kept on the stretch by this 
potent magic through the course of a long nar¬ 
rative, still [like an elastic body (expanded to an 
unnatural and disproportioned tensity) will it 
soon relapse to its former tone, and recovering 
from the delusion, see in their true light, that the 
characters are unnatural and monstrous—the pas¬ 
sions extravagant and inordinate—the morality 
unapt and ineffectual, and the situations, actions, 
motions, causes, and events, unparalleled and 
impossible. It sees that the whole work is an 
outrage to nature and truth, and dispassionately 
lays it by, to seek for profit in the beautiful and 
heart-touching scenes of Shakespeare ; or, (correct¬ 
ing the words, and more pertinently, perhaps, as I 
speak of novels) to seek for profit in the beautiful 
and heart-touching scenes of Scott . (That is the 

novel writer.) It also sees that Mrs. Radcliffe 
having there exhausted all the characters of ro 
mance, could, in any future attempt do little 
more than transcribe them anew, with some slight 
indiscriminate alterations in scene and incident. 
She should, therefore, when she wrote that work 



70 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


have laid down her pen—-at least with respect to 
romances. She had sufficiently mazed herself and 
her readers in the wilds of imagination, and should 
have returned to mingle with and describe the 
world of real things. But I would not degrade her 
by pinning on her the housewife’s apron, to learn 
to make Christmas pies, as Dr. Johnson said Mrs. 
Macauley should have been doing, instead of 
writing an history of England. She should 
have allowed her fame to rest on “ Udolpho 
which, though not a solid, is a beautiful fabric; 
and has, if not the permanence and regularity of 
nature, at least the unconstrained and pleasing 
graces of fancy. If permitted to remain alone, it 
w r ould have shone with conspicuous magnificence. 
As other structures are raised round it, she there¬ 
by divides and lessens the admiration due to the 
former, without fixing it on the latter. 

# Mrs. Bennett has shown much genius in her 

* In here speaking of female novel writers, I ought 
not to omit (though I have done so) alluding to the 
works of the pleasing Miss Edgeworth, as well as those 
of Hannah More. The former has already earned 
her own praise. With respect to the latter, it is 
fashionable to dispraise her, but I confess I refuse to 
do so. Her “ Lucilla” is a most lovely portrait, and I 
perhaps shall regret that I do not more often meet the 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


71 


very entertaining novel of “ The Beggar Girl.” 

I never met with any of her works till this capital 
performance fell into my hands; since then, I 
have valued it as an unfailing fund of profit and 
delight. It is one of those few books which can 
be perused a second time with pleasure. 

But who is it that outshines them all in novel 
writing ? Who is it that surpasses every writer 
that ever went before him in the masterly and 
mighty touches of nature, description, scenery, 
dialogue , and plot? Who is it that leads the 
mind along, as if it were listening to the tones of 
a harp struck with sw^eet and wizard touch ?— 
Scott!—enchanting—powerful—imitated but in¬ 
imitable Scott! 

By the extensive multiplicity of his productions ; 
the variety and novelty of his incidents; the 
number, discrimination, and true representation of 
character; the ease, aptness, and liveliness of his 
dialogue ; the good humoured turn (when it does 
appear) of his wit; the faithful delineation of 
nature; the vigorous and skilful, (or to use the 
words of the celebrated Review of his country,) 

character in private life. I have seen one who emi¬ 
nently comes up to the portrait; and if her beautiful 
eyes read these lines, she can give me full credit for the 
affection with which I speak of and here allude to her. 




72 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


the broad and blazing ” displays of passion ; the 
force, purity, and propriety of his morality; the 
profoundness and accuracy of his observations ; 
the justice, obviousness, and beauty—the uncom¬ 
mon beauty of his descriptions; his exact and un¬ 
bounded knowledge of life and manners; the 
depth, solidity, and critical acuteness of his 
judgment, and the ardour, fertility, and extent of 
his imagination; “ the author ofWaverly” has 
established himself as the most ingenious and ex¬ 
quisite tale writer that England has ever pro¬ 
duced. 

Let the reader take up any of his tales, (and 
which of them am I to point out as the most 
beautiful ?) and whatever may be the disposition 
of such reader, or in whatever temper of mind 
he opens it, it will captivate his attention, and 
will suit with and charm each varying mood of 
head or heart. 

If I mistake not his <€ Ivanhoe ” is one of the 
most vigorous of his productions. There are three 
scenes in it that are truly enchanting. One is 
the combats of Ashby, the other is the scene be¬ 
tween Rebecca and her passionate admirer—in¬ 
cluding also the description of the fray at the bar¬ 
bican (this is magic) and the other is the parting 
scene between Rebecca and her rival. These 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


73 


scenes live before you . You behold them as 
plainly as if you were looking and witnessing them* 
Their intensity and beauty of description is both 
enchanting and magnificent. They strike the eye 
and reach the heart. While reading them—you 
are almost breathless, and you think you are in a 
theatre pausing on the tones and catching the 
words that live and lighten—and breathe and 
burn before you. 

To me Ivanhoe appears the most beautiful of his 
works. Whether it is that it possesses so much 
of that dramatic cast which I so much admire, I 
will not exactly say. But I cannot now recollect 
having ever read a romantic history (for almost 
all his works have their ground-work from history) 
that so caught and captivated me. It is some¬ 
what remarkable, too, that it is written entirely in 
English—no Scottish scenery; which shows that 
he can with as much ease send his muse to wan¬ 
der among the fertile and delightful plains of this 
fine country, and from thence bring him home 
flowers, sweets, and beauties, as he can make her 
roam among the wild and woody glens, the high 
and towering rocks, the ancient and ivied towers, 
and the lowly and humble cots of his own native 
and wild home. 

In this work he has shown that he possesses 



74 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


in an exalted degree, the faculty of calling into 
existence and reality whatever presents itself to 
his creative mind, and of giving the living and 
actual form to every human emotion and passion. 
Every page is graced with rich and various excel¬ 
lencies—with the beauties of fancy, of genius, of 
morality, of passion, and of nature. 

But am I not wrong—am I not wrong, reader, 
in attempting to criticize a work that has already 
passed the ordeal of the puissant and tremendous 
reviewers of the North. Their fiat has been pro¬ 
nounced, and what need is there of my attempt¬ 
ing to enlarge on what has received the great 
seal of Scotland / 5 If they are severe though, I 
readily will award them good-nature, (that is, if 
they are not offended—always saving and barring 
their not being offended.) This being the case, 
then, I must think that they entertain no harm 
against me, and as I am not aware that I have 
offended them particularly (at least, as yet) I shall 
resume; for I must dwell with pleasure on a writer 
who has delighted me so much. 

In this work, Sir W. Scott (I am here sup¬ 
posing him the author) has evinced what very great 
and powerful resources are ever at his hand. With 
such vigour, exactitude, and vivifying energy does 
he represent each circumstance—each situation— 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE, 


75 


each change of incident, time, and place ; in short, 
all those varieties, and minutenesses which must 
necessarily interfere in the actions of such a vast 
number of characters, that the mind insensibly 
resigns the consciousness of being engaged in ideal 
scenes, and actually feels as if living, speaking, 
and acting in those of real life. The force and 
fervour of his mind, while it summons into life, 
and throws forth the noblest fruits and fairest 
flowers of literary composition, can yet so far im¬ 
prove and sublimate the meanest and most com¬ 
mon weed, as to make it pleasing if not beautiful 
—attractive if not great. Walter Scott is the 
Shakespeare of novel writers . Few resemble him 
more in the well defined discrimination, the strictly 
preserved identity, the natural representation, and 
delicate developement of character. Few resemble 
him more, too, in the powerfully affecting touches 
of passion, and in the piercing, profound, and ex¬ 
tensive sagacity of vision, into all the strange and 
complicated intricacies of the human breast. Like 
him, he has the art to give to his persons “ a 
local habitation and a name ”—a form and size—a 
palpable impression of living reality. Any com¬ 
mon observer of men and manners, any unapt and 
uncouth hand, may exhibit the general character, 
the undistinguished mass of mind; but to work 


76 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


up this formless chaos into figured existence— 
to realize and perfect it with the minute and 
masterly strokes — the skilful touches of nature 
—the little starts, changes, and turns of humour, 
passion, inclination, and manners ; and the varied 
involutions of opinion and observation which ac¬ 
cident or situation produce on different minds 
(through all which the soul can be seen more dis¬ 
tinctly, than through the more obtrusive parade of 
great and general qualities) and which stamp on 
the character life and force, and give it identity; 
to do this requires a spirited, vigorous, and life- 
giving hand of the first order; accurately and 
boundlessly versed in man and all his complicated 
ways; and such Sir W. Scott has here shown himself 
to possess. There are few books which contain a 
larger number of persons, and yet all are diversified 
from the highest to the lowest, with distinct and 
definite characters. Each has his own appro¬ 
priate sphere, in which he ever moves and strictly 
sustains throughout, those peculiar traits which 
singularize him from every other. Madame 
d’Arblay has been justly censured for circum¬ 
scribing the character of her “ Cecilia,” with 
limits too strongly marked, and too inviolably 
preserved; but the strength and exactitude of 
that unrivalled historic fiction writer, Sir W. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


77 


Scott, showed him, that endlessly distingushed as 
the branches of human nature are by particular 
varieties, yet the stems always bear to each other 
a general resemblance. He has therefore avoided 
this error and painted his characters with more of 
the truth of nature, by sometimes tinging them 
with this hue of universal similitude. The art, 
too, with which he has contrasted them one with 
another, has seldom been equalled, and perhaps 
never surpassed . Each acts, and is so acted upon 
by its opponent, as to exhibit, with the most 
striking and manifest effect, the lights and shades 
of both. He never so eminently exalts his cha¬ 
racters above, or so far sinks them beneath the 
standard of humanity as to remove them beyond 
our sympathy and interest. His heroine does not 
come forward with a splendid load of superhuman 
perfections like the “ mawkish drabs 99 of other 
novels, whose divine accomplishments, heavenly 
qualifications, sublime attributes, are poured in on 
us at once in quantity and quality so disgusting, 
that a dose of ipecacuanha would be a recreation 
in comparison. The mind, person, graces, and 
virtues of Rebecca are gradually developed by her 
actions and situations, and by the approving testi¬ 
mony of the other characters. She is the most 
truly lovely, the most interesting, the most exem- 



78 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


plary, the most natural, the best painted, and 
best preserved heroine of any exhibited on the 
English world of romance writing. 

Oh, says some snarling critic, you praise her 
because a certain set of reviewers praise her. The 
remark, as it is irrelevant, so do I despise to 
answer it. 

His beautiful tale of “ the Heart of Mid Lo¬ 
thian’’ is lying before me. I cannot help re¬ 
marking with what an exquisite hand he has 
drawn the character of the beautiful but unfortu¬ 
nate Euphemia. Touches of nature are scattered 
every where in the delineation of her character 
both brightly and profusely. The following is 
truly beautiful. I abridge it from her trial. 

“ Euphemia Deans,” said the presiding judge, 
in an accent in which pity was blended with dig¬ 
nity, “ stand up and listen to the criminal indict¬ 
ment now to be preferred against you.” 

The unhappy girl who had been stupified by the 
confusion of the crowd through which the guards 
had forced a passage, cast a bewildered look on 
the multitude of faces around her; and instinc¬ 
tively obeyed a command which sung in her ears 
like the trumpet of the judgment day. 

“ Put back your hair, Effie,” said one of the 
macers. For her beautiful and abundant tresses 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


79 


of long fair hair, which alas! Effie dared no 
longer to confine with the snood or ribband, which 
implied purity of maidenhood, now hung unbound 
and dishevelled over her face, and almost con¬ 
cealed her features. On receiving this hint from 
the attendant, she put back her locks, and showed 
to the whole audience, a countenance which 
though pale and emaciated, was so lovely amid 
its agony, that it called forth an universal murmur 
of compassion and sympathy.” Her counsel pro¬ 
ceeds. “ In this fever, my Lord, she appears to 
have been deceived by the person who waited on 
her, and on recovering her senses, she found that 
she was childless in that abode of misery. Her 
infant had been carried off, perhaps for the worst 
purposes by the wretch who waited on her. It 
may have been murdered for what I can tell.” 

He was here interrupted by a piercing shriek, 
uttered by the unfortunate prisoner. She was 
with difficulty brought to compose herself.” 

It is to this shriek I would call the attention of 
the reader. What a beautiful and 'powerful effect 
has it! and how natural! 

His description too of her attitude when breath¬ 
lessly waiting the arrival of her sister into court, 
whose evidence was so materially to affect her— 
lives before you as if you were looking at that 



80 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


attitude in a painting hung by West in his gal¬ 
lery. I quote. 

“ Her sister was called, and she instantly 
started up and stretched herself half way over 
the bar towards the side at which her sister was 
to enter. And when slowly following the officer 
she advanced to the foot of the table, Effie, with 
the whole expression of her countenance altered 
from that of confused shame and dismay, to an 
eager, imploring, and almost ecstatic earnestness 
of entreaty, with outstretched hands, hair stream¬ 
ing back, eyes raised eagerly to her sister’s face, 
and glistening through tears, exclaimed in a tone 
which went through the heart of all who heard 
her ——“ O Jeanie, Jeanie, save me, save me!” 
I cannot praise this. ’Tis beyond all praise. 

I must now come back more immediately to 
my subject, and like a truant school-boy, ask 
pardon for having forgotten the task given to me. 
I however doubt though, if I shall ask forgiveness 
reverently from the reader, for he must recollect 
that if I have strayed a little from the beaten path, 
I yet have regaled him with a repast served up 
by that delightful restaurateur —Walter Scott. 
Beaten paths too are a thing that I am not over 
and above fond of trudging in, so that I must walk 
about a little to renovate myself; besides too I 





ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


81 


told the reader that I was going to make a digres¬ 
sion, and I believe I have made a good one. 

Still though I should imagine that talking of 
Walter Scott is not exactly foreign to my pur¬ 
pose. I wanted to draw a comparison between 
him and Shakespeare , and accordingly have done 
so; so that if the reader will but please to recol¬ 
lect the thing, he will see that the fault of the 
digression is not altogether so bad as what it 
might otherwise appear, did I not brush up his 
memory with this hint. 

To resume however. 

Can such characters as those I spake (not such 
as I speak ) of, interest the heart? Can such 
superhuman beings call forth the reader’s sym¬ 
pathy ? No surely. (How different with Shakes¬ 
peare!) The consciousness that the scenes in 
which they are engaged have never been paralleled 
in life—that such forced hyperbolical and extra¬ 
ordinary passions and feelings—joys and misfor¬ 
tunes—virtues and vices—have never actuated the 
human breast, and were never exhibited on the 
theatre of the world, will haunt the mind, and 
repress the sympathetic movements of the heart. 
The heat and activity of the author’s genius map 
throw over his personages the gloss of wit, know¬ 
ledge, and eloquence, and thus catch for a mo- 


G 


82 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


ment the eye; but their influence stops there, 
they make no progress to the heart, for they will 
still appear to me as beings of another order— 
another nature, who have no relation to me or 
mankind, and cannot therefore create in me aught 
of sympathy or interest. I shall look on them as 
on the figures raised by the magic glass, with 
whom I have no connexion—whose existence I 
know to be unreal—whose strangeness and splen¬ 
dour attract my attention for a moment, and then 
pass away and are forgotten. 

Yet further. Let us look to those characters as 
delineated by different authors, we shall find 
nearly the entire of them moulded from the same 
impression, and continued from one to another, 
unvaried in aught but by being arrayed in an¬ 
other style, or viewed through another medium, 
by some unimportant changes in situations, ac¬ 
tions, and circumstances. We see the same 
feature of unattainable excellence in each hero 
and heroine—of superlative courage, magnani¬ 
mity, and unbending virtue in each warrior—of 
uniform dignity in each king—and of unparalleled 
purity or depravity in each virtuous or vicious 
character. They are all family likenesses; all of 
the same class, undistinguished but by a difference 
in the style of shades and colours; yet the lines 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


83 


of separation between the latter are so imper¬ 
fectly defined, and the former melt into each other 
with such languid discrimination, that they rather 
connect and establish, than annul the resemblance. 
But the characters of Shakespeare are no second 
hand copies, meanly stolen from preceding authors, 
and varnished over to deceive the injudicious eye. 
His mighty mind disdained such sordid traffic. 
He drew the originals themselves, and having 
exhausted the almost infinite variety of human 
nature, he then repaired to the fountain head of 
his own uncircumscribed imagination, and bade 
the rich streams flow from thence with all the 
conscious energy of native excellence. His cha¬ 
racters are frequently numerous, even to excess, 
and yet in all those multitudes that people his 
dramas, and move in such rapid succession 
through his scenes, no two shall ever be found 
alike. Though this may not at first strike a 
superficial view, yet a nearer examination will 
always evince some well-marked (though perhaps 
not immediately obvious) limit, that separates 
them and stamps the distinction. 

His representations of life appear rather origi¬ 
nals than copies . He viewed the wide labyrinth 
of human nature with an acuteness of vision, and 
extensiveness of observation, such as no other 

g 2 


84 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


mortal has ever been favoured with, and painted 
from thence with such accuracy, fidelity, and 
vigour, that a being of another sphere could (from 
the study of his works) judge of each character 
and “ scene of this many coloured life” with 
nearly as much precision as though he himself 
had been an actor and an observer. In Shakes¬ 
peare’s personages we find no distorted aggrava¬ 
tions-—no hideous caricatures of mental defor¬ 
mity—no well polished pictures of internal and 
external symmetrical perfection. They are men 
and women, not male and female Gods and God¬ 
desses, whom he has laid before our view; who 
are actuated by the same motives, passions, and 
interests, which always sway the human breast, 
and who look forward to such objects, move in 
such situations, and are shrouded by the shade of 
misery, or illumined by the ray of happiness, 
through such means as I myself may feel. ’Tis 
with such characters as these I can feel myself 
interested, as though it were by that universal 
chain which binds mankind together. ’Tis with 
their sorrows—their joys—that I can yield my 
whole heart to sympathetic delusion, and in the 
enthusiasm of feeling overleaping the bounds, 
dividing reality from fiction, be a fellow sufferer 
myself. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


85 


Even where our bard’s creative mind fled be¬ 
yond the limits of this “ visible diurnal sphere,” 
to stray amidst the worlds of imagination, yet 
there did nature* attend him; and while fancy, 
with irregular and rapid step, led him through 
her magic regions—her hanging rocks and foam¬ 
ing cataracts—her gloomy caverns and shades— 
her savage desarts and darkening tempests; or, 
amidst her autumnal hills and vales—her cloud¬ 
less skies—her zephyrs, meads, and streams, and 
all her fairest views; yet still his “ mighty 
mother held her faithful glass before his eye, 
as it ranged over each enchanted scene, and 

-“ In a fine frenzy rolling, 

Glanced from heav’n to earth, from earth to heaven.” 

and thus guided—swayed—and illumined its 
beautiful and creative movements. 

It has been asserted by some as a bar to that 

* The Tempest , if I mistake not, is one of the 
justest and most beautiful specimens of the fair and 
artful combination of nature with fancy, that any age 
or nation can exhibit. 

t Thus nature is characterized in Gray’s sublime 
Ode of the “ Progress of Poesy.” 




86 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


originality to which none was more liberally en¬ 
titled than Shakespeare; that he was skilled in 
languages both ancient and modern. This re¬ 
quires examination. Ben Jonson, # who knew 
him well, says that he was ignorant of Greek, and 
so moderately acquainted with the Latin lan¬ 
guage, that he never attained to facility in reading 
it. It is likewise advanced in support of the 
above ill founded assertion, that some thoughts 
and images of Shakespeare, bear a near resem¬ 
blance to, and were stolen from, some passages in 
the Classics. Tis true there is a similarity disco¬ 
verable in some parts; but let it be considered 
that most of the ancients, as well as Shakespeare, 
were accurate and attentive students of nature, 

* It would be an unjust omission not to observe 
that Shakespeare, rich in generosity as in genius, and 
with a nobility of soul that disdained the selfish views 
of envy, or the fear of rivalship, not only introduced 
Jonson to the royal patronage, but established an 
infant play of his on the stage. Indeed, dramatic 
talent should be “ a citizen of the worldand in¬ 
terest should have nothing whatsoever to do with the 
rejection or reception of manuscripts. The directors 
of a theatre, should look alone to the merit of the 
piece, and forget both authors and friends. 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


87 


and it will then no longer be believed that a know¬ 
ledge of the writings of the former, was neces¬ 
sary to make the latter sometimes think and speak 
like them. Two poets who walk through nature’s 
kingdom, will often in their various wanderings, 
undesignedly and unknown to each other, stray 
into the same path, meet with the same fruits and 
flowers, haunt the same hill, or seek the same 
shade. In the eastern world, where the hallowed 
Ganges pours his broad wave, and in the western, 
where the Orellana rolls through unnumbered 
nations, as the rude inhabitant of either wanders 
on the bank and marks the morning sun look 
from the hills and shed his glories on their sur¬ 
face, will not the same emotions dilate the bosom 
of each, and the same fervid prayer rise from each 
heart to that all ruling being, who nature tells 
them, bade the sun to shine and the stream to 
flow ? 

Shakespeare has, indeed, drawn the plots of 
many of his plays from Plutarch, Plautus, Lu¬ 
cian, the Roman historians, and Italian novelists. 
But this affords no conviction that he was versed 
in the originals; for, from the most accurate in¬ 
vestigation, it appears that translations alone were 
the medium through which he had recourse to 


88 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


them ; and, as a presumptive proof of this, it 
also appears that it was only from those foreign 
works, which at that time were transferred into 
the English language, that he has devised his plots. 
His obligations extend no farther; and he rather 
dignifies others than debases himself, where he con¬ 
descends to be indebted to them. The groundwork 
may be another’s ; but the beauteous and majestic 
fabric is his own . The characters are his own— 
he animates them and works them up into exist¬ 
ence. He gives them their very form and pressure 
—creating them according to those just, faithful, 
and perfect models, which, without number, 
peopled his unbounded mind. He finishes them 
with such a masterly well-skilled hand—such true 
discriminative judgment—such exquisitely wrought 
strokes of nature, and such piercing faculty of 
vision through the vast and many-winding laby¬ 
rinth of the human heart, that it requires no un¬ 
common portion of critical sagacity to see that he 
neither needed nor used any other resources than 
those his own illimitable genius supplied him with. 
His thoughts and his images are his own; for 
could he, whose ample eye drew in the true hori¬ 
zon of the world of nature, could he, I say, deign 
to copy the confined and spiritless paintings of 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


89 


those, whose feeble vision extended not beyond 
that narrow circle which limits the sight of com - 
mon mortals. But his thoughts and his images 
bear in themselves sufficient testimony that they 
are the genuine progeny of Shakespeare. They 
possess the warmth, vigour, truth, and form of a 
first-hand original impression, draughted in the 
glow of nature, and coloured with the vividness 
of fancy! 

It is one of Shakespeare's excellencies, perhaps 
peculiar to himself, that he, who in understand¬ 
ing and knowledge has not attained even the rank 
of mediocrity, is equally adequate with the most 
eminent scholar to imbibe amusement and instruc¬ 
tion from his works. An effusion of the genuine 
feelings of the heart—a just picture of life, nature, 
and character—a pervading sentiment of morality 
—an acuteness founded on observation and expe¬ 
rience—a clear and obvious reasoning, unclouded 
by sophistical perplexities—wit undebased by af¬ 
fectation, and undistorted by extravagance, situ¬ 
ation, and circumstances; all these, ignorance 
itself can appreciate and understand; while the 
deep-inquiring critic confesses them the basis of 
that lofty and eternal monument of merit and fame 
that towers proud and high above the low and 
tottering piles of other poets ! 



90 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


Thus is Shakespeare the poet of every rank and 
of every age; and thus does each father deliver to 
his son, from generation to generation, the in¬ 
estimable legacy of his writings, and bids him 
revere them as the productions of the moralist, the 
wit, and the deep-skilled adept in the heart of 
man; which have moved, delighted, and in¬ 
structed himself, and will continue to move, de¬ 
light, and instruct until human nature change. 

Among those qualities which have ennobled 
Shakespeare above the sons of men, his fancy 
stands in the foremost rank. 

“ Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, 

“ And panting Time toiled after him in vain,” 

When viewed in this light, he appears more fully 
in his character of poet ; stationed in the fore¬ 
ground, conspicuous, unrivalled, and alone ! 

Save two, from the countless thousands that 
have in every age aspired to the laurel of poetic 
fame, there are none others who are entitled to 
dispute with him the dignified distinction. These 
are our own Milton and the Grecian Homer. It 
would be an arduous office to assign with strict 
justice the palm of victory to this godlike trium¬ 
virate. Yet would I, though with fear and trem- 



ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


91 


bling, dare to adjudge it to Shakespeare, not only 
in preference to Milton, but to Homer. 

But here the puissant Pope # is in arms against 
me, as well as all the classical prejudices of every 
scholar, from Longinus down to the pedantic 
schoolmaster, “ who mouths out Homer’s Greek 
like thunder,” and neglects the noble fire, preg¬ 
nant thought, and simple majesty of the poet, 
whilst his cold head traces his verses through 
grammar, case, and gender. But perhaps I am 
partial; and, as Pope himself allows Shakespeare’s 
superior skill in nature , his most ardent admirer 
may well remit his zeal, without vainly endeavour¬ 
ing to assert his pre-eminence in fancy above the 
Grecian bard, the venerable “ father of verse.” 

With respect to Milton; the universal and stu¬ 
pendous greatness, the awful sublimity of the 
subject of Paradise Lost, seem at first sight to fix 
the wavering balance in his favour. But let us 
look with the naked unbiassed eye of truth and 
justice, and it will be found that this greatness, 
this sublimity in the subject , acts as a magnifying 
glass, which falsely enlarges the merit of the per- 

* Vide Pope’s preface to his translation of the Iliad, 
more particularly his own comparison between Homer 
and the other poets. 



92 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


forrnance. This is an observation which I am 
surprised has never occurred to his commentators 
and critics : one even of mean talents, when em¬ 
ploying them in the description of things vast, 
splendid, and uncommon, will receive from them 
a lustre and importance which may easily deceive 
the eye, as the emanation of intrinsic excellence. 
When we take up Milton's book, the revolutions 
of heaven and of hell—the tremendous majesty of 
Omnipotence—the creation of the world—the 
formation of man—his state of bliss and subse¬ 
quent fall, pass in awful review before our eyes, as 
objects of astonishing and boundless grandeur and 
magnitude; objects over which religion has 
thrown the hue of fearful veneration, and which 
custom has taught us to reverence. And thus are 
we prepared to look up to him with admiration 
and esteem, whether sanctioned or not by the as¬ 
sent of justice. Though his performance is un¬ 
questionably equal to his subject, and though he 
shines with holy and transcendent magnificence, 
yet does he, in some places, sink below other poets 
as far as he at other times rises great and glo¬ 
rious above them. Unlike theirs, his flights of ima¬ 
gination are not temperate and even; but are of 
that kind which dazzles and overpowers you. His 
brightness (and it is a heavenly and a holy bright- 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


93 


ness) is as the splendour of a comet, which flames 
on the brow of night, and then vanishes, leaving 
the beholder to gaze on the grandeur which 
lightened from it, even though the heaven which 
it has left is shrouded in darkness. 

Far be it from me to try and depreciate the 
bard of heaven. None can more truly admire— 
none can more deeply feel the beauty and the 
majesty of his song. Angels touched his harp, and 
why should it not be beautiful. Inspiration 
breathed through its tones, and why should it not 
be divine ! With an unawed and a giant step he 
strides over the grovellers that bow and crouch to 
him, and sits throned and towering amid the god¬ 
like few whom Poesy bows to as its only “ trium¬ 
virate.” 

I write this for the purpose of comparison. 
Under this idea, my warmth will be allowed a 
little latitude. 

Let it then be remembered, that few, if any, 
have possessed such profound and extensive 
learning as Milton. He not only was an accom¬ 
plished proficient in the Greek and Latin lan¬ 
guages, but also perfectly understood the Hebrew, 
Syriac, and Chaldean, and most of the modem 
languages of Europe. So that his mind was a 
vast repository of the knowledge of all ages and 


94 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


nations ; and it’would be a vain and idle argument 
to pretend that he borrowed nought from thence, 
to enrich his writings. A slight acquaintance 
with them will evince the contrary. 

But Shakespeare was indebted to none . His 
powerful mind neither sought for, nor required the 
assistance of any. Milton himself bestows on him 
the title of “ Fancy’s child.” The expression is 
not, one of Fancy’s children—but as if he alone 
were the sole and the legitimate offspring of that 
lovely goddess. 

The epithet is in that beautiful poem, “ L’Alle- 
gro,” which, had he written nothing else, would 
have raised his name above the sons of men. 

“ Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child , 
Warbled his native wood-notes wild.” 

He was Fancy’s child indeed. It was she who 
gave to his infant fingers that harp which he 
awoke with that wild melody which chains the 
listening soul in enraptured attention. His was 
the strength, and the power, and the beauty, 
and the might. His was the livingness which 
could impart to thought a form and size—to 
things inanimate, existence—to things mortal, im¬ 
mortality. His was the power—the unbounded 
and mighty power (that power which was like 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


95 


the creative hand when it brooded over chaos) 
to call beings when he willed, and forms w T hen 
he chose! 

Criticism is disarmed when it looks to his fancy. 
However reprehensible he may sometimes be in his 
representations of nature, he in this particular 
soars above the most scrutinizing malignity of the 
critic. Its flame ever burns with a pure, steady, 
fand vigorous fervour. As the sun’s evening ray 
mild but beautiful, it shines in the “ Midsummer’s 
Night’s Dream.” As his noontide brightness, it 
glows in the “ Tempest,” and as his lowering 
front looking through the storm's blackening 
clouds, it glares with terrible splendour in “ Mac¬ 
beth.” 

Our heaven-inspired bard was lord of all the 
passions which agitate the human breast. Nature 
herself delegated to him the sceptre of their com¬ 
mand, and with an uncontrolled and immediate 
force he sends them forth to excite, to sooth, to 
draw the tear of sympathy, or raise the fire of 
vengeance. When guilt, beneath the shades of 
night gives utterance to the pangs of remorse— 
when the strains of innocence, of mirth, of wit, 
and humour strike on the heart—when horror 
stalks abroad and sheds on the threatening gloom 


96 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


a deeper gloom—when love sighs forth his soft 
complaints—when oppression extends his iron rod 
—-when grief pours forth the loud sigh in mourn¬ 
ful succession, or bends in mute uncomplaining 
submission beneath the stroke of fate ;—is there a 
heart that does not heave to such varying emotion, 
or an eye that does not let fall the sacred drop of 
accordant feeling ? 

Oh! thou hallowed spirit! whose powerful 
hand could thus lead the subject mind at will! 
Thou heavenly harper! whose touches thrill 
through the inmost soul, and fix it in a dream of 
delirium ! Thou mortal-god ! to whom the heart 
bows, as if thou alone couldst claim its worship ! 
Thou—oh thou !—while listening to whose music, 
I have forgotten the cheerless and heavy weight of 
sickness, and with whose magic touches I quicken¬ 
ed the pace of tedious time ; tell me—say, in what 
new and glorious light shall I yet consider thee ? 
Livest thou in thy heaven so high and immortal 
that the harps which surround thee cannot admit 
the dull offerings of notes untuned as mine ! or 
sittest thou on thy own throne, so mighty and 
majestic, that even praise thou lookest down on, 
and despisest? Who shall give thee a worthy 
offering ? Who shall award to thee a praise, meet 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 97 

as thy Fancy—boundless as thy Fame ? With 
adoration have I viewed thee, as fancy's favourite 
son—as the vicegerent of nature—as the master of 
the passions—as the well-skilled teacher of the 
human heart. Yet dost thou still enjoy a more 
illustrious station, wherein thou surpassest the 
conquerors and princes of the earth. For thou 
art the moralist, whose pure, just, and rich pre¬ 
cepts, warmed by virtue and guided by the keenest 
insight into the mind of man, can direct the fiery 
eye of youth—give vigour to the impotence of 
vision in old age, and can guide the novice in ex¬ 
perience and virtue, with honour and propriety 
through this earthly labyrinth of vice and folly. 

How unwillingly, then, do I now turn to the 
following. 

I have hitherto but exhibited the brightness of 
the picture, I would now be unwelcomely asked 
to point out its shades. It is an ungrateful, an 
unpleasing office. Shall I now seek for specks in 
the sun of glory? Shall I now look for a sterile 
branch or faded leaf in the luxuriant and imperial 
oak ? Shall I now search for the ruggedness of a 
stone in the graceful and noble fabric of excellence 
and fame? Yet, as my object was to write on the 
genius of Shakespeare my task would not be ful¬ 
filled did I not notice the obscurities that clouded, 


H 


98 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

as well as the lustre that illuminated it. I shall 
therefore glance at his most obvious faults, leaving 
it to others more able or more willing to comment 
more largely on them. 

I have commended his scenes as deeply interest¬ 
ing, though they often fail of this effect; by their 
tediousness, the negligence of the author, and the 
quantity of unnecessary and unavailing matter that 
retards the main business and fatigues the mind. 
I have commended his characters as natural, 
though they not unfrequently act and speak extra¬ 
vagantly and unnaturally. I have spoken of his 
wit as not affected nor artificial, though it often 
degenerates into puerile conceits. He is often 
obscure, clouded, and embarrassed; but this is 
more the consequence of his own haste and indo¬ 
lence, than of the deficiency of his genius. As he 
found his plots, so he preserved them. Insomuch, 
that when the display, the elevation, or the beauti¬ 
fying of character, circumstance, passion, descrip¬ 
tion, or moral, would have been the result of even 
a slight alteration, his blindness or his negligence 
(indubitably the latter) prevented him from taking 
advantage of it. 

The frequent indelicacy and grossness of his 
comedy, the unrefinement of his age can scarcely 
justify. But let us remember that he composed 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


99 


with a rapidity and luxuriance even to a fault, and 
that his known carelessness, hurry, and inatten¬ 
tion prevented him from practising, 

“ The last and greatest art, the art to blot.” 

Besides, as he wrote less for future fame, than 
present popularity, he was obliged in some mea¬ 
sure to conform to that lowness, obscenity, and 
impure witticism, which were the prevalent taste 
of the times. I am conscious he was not indecent 
through choice; for a great mind naturally revolts 
with disgust and abhorrence from whatever would 
awake the most transient blush on the cheek of 
modesty. 

In his tragedy are instances of ineffectual empti¬ 
ness, unproductive effort, and weak and useless 
declamation. Insomuch, that, save where passion 
and character invigorate the scene, he is often 
tedious, vapid, and feeble. 

But, back to my more pleasing subject. It is 
ungrateful to find fault where so much beauty 
dwells—useless to look for specks when all is 
bright and splendid. Do we mind the cloud that 
obscures the sun when his glory bursts and burns 
underneath it ? or seek we for the turbid wave in 
the stream when its waters roll clear and calm, 
and breathe music as they flow and rush along ? 
Oh! surely the mind must be malignant that 

h 2 


100 ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

would thus act—surely the eye must be distem¬ 
pered that would thus look. Gaze on the full, 
dark, and bright eye of woman, and tell me if you 
will stop to consider whether the brow which over¬ 
shades it has scorn or distance in it ? Irresistibly 
you gaze—irresistibly you feel. What , you cannot 
tell; but you only know that beauty (contrast the 
eye and the writings) allures — captivates—en¬ 
chains—enthralls you. I cannot suppose you so 
dull, as to be insensible to the magic of the one, 
or the melody of the other. If you are, I have 
written but in vain. Voice of mine you will not 
care about, and had I the sweetness of a Moore to 
allure you, the attempt would be but unavailing. 
On the other hand, if you are the reader of taste 
and talent—if you take pleasure in whatever be¬ 
longs to the drama—if you admire the works of 
poesy and song, and thrill with the high and in¬ 
describable throb of delight, when listening to 
the harp of nature swept by this son of glory and 
of science—to such would I turn with pleasure— 
to such would I present my imperfect lines, and 
to such would I ask of them to excuse whatever 
faults may be found in it. My intention has been 
to try and amuse the leisure hour of the critic, and 
to add a mite of praise to the immortal honours of 
our bard. Perhaps the colouring is somewhat too 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 101 

warm; but it must be recollected that years not 
many have produced it. Youth is not exactly the 
season for cold and prosaic praise on a subject 
which might be capable of invigorating and warm¬ 
ing even old age. The heart of such a person 
wants tutoring on a theme that possesses a capa¬ 
bility of affording it latitude and glowingness of 
idea. Correctly to stop, I knew not where. Pro¬ 
perly, to go on I almost feared. To the hands, 
then, of the more liberal and experienced I confide 
it—satisfied that the faults (I own to them) of it 
will be told me, not with the snarling censure of 
the pedant, but with the enlightened tone of the 
refined critic. I could almost wish that all of this 
class would let me and my poor work alone, except 
two branches. The intelligent reader will guess 
that I allude to a celebrated northern and southern 
set. If I am to be mangled, I would rather it was 
done by those who know how to do it properly, 
and not by those who seem to take a certain de¬ 
light in looking at the dark side of the picture 
without ever casting a glance at the bright. 
There is a wide difference between the critic and 
the censurer. To the former I confide myself—to 
the latter I have nothing further to say. 

To conclude, then. 

After an impartial review of the labours of 


102 


ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE. 


Shakespeare, and with the candid allowances due 
to human imperfection, he may safely be pro¬ 
nounced the greatest of poets, and the most illus¬ 
trious ornament that ever exalted the dignity of 
the race of man. We may have another Milton— 
We may see another Homer— Eternity has 
rut one Shakespeare. 


A LETTER 


TASTE, 


ON 


JUDGMENT, 

AND 


RHETORICAL EXPRESSION. 




• f ■ 


A LETTER 


ON 

TASTE, JUDGMENT, 

AND 


RHETORICAL EXPRESSION. 


“ Gods ! on those boards shall folly Taise her head, where 
Garrick trod !” 


BYRON. 


“ He who refines the public taste, is a public benefactor.” 

JOHNSON. 


In receiving and replying to the letter with 
which your Lordship has favoured me, I have at 
once to express my pleasure and my embarrass¬ 
ment—pleasure, at its agreeable contents; em¬ 
barrassment, at its difficult injunction. You 
desire me to send you critical definitions of taste 
and judgment, (including general observations) 
and, at the same time, requiring from me remarks 
on the principal performers, who at present oc¬ 
cupy the London stage. I own, my Lord, that 
you could scarcely have given me a more difficult 





106 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

thing to do; and when I recollect the weak pen 
which is at present running over this paper, I 
would willingly request of you to have made the 
demand on some more able person of your nu¬ 
merous correspondents. I am aware too, of the 
great difficulty of epistolary composition; and 
that it requires something besides mere words 
and mere periods to make up that light and play¬ 
ful fascination which belongs to its style. Singled 
out by your Lordship, however, for the task, and 
recollecting that a little dash of satire cannot be 
of the least harm, on the present state of the 
drama in London, I shall proceed. I shall despatch 
a messenger to Juvenal for one of his pens, and at 
the same time request of him to glide in through 
one of the windows of your Lordship’s delightful 
seat, and politely ask you for some of your good 
humour; for in truth, my Lord, when I look 
around me, and perceive the declining state of 
genuine comedy and genuine tragedy; I scarcely 
know whether most to mourn or to satirize. I 
shall at once, however, enter on my subject; and 
forgetting any further useless apology, leave it to 
reviewers, critics, and would he's, to cut me up. 

Taste is nice and quick discrimination, joined 
to cultivated talent. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 107 

Judgment is depth and solidity of intellect, 
joined to sound sensed 

Both (though often confounded) are perfectly 
distinct—for 

A man may possess the most solid judgment, 
and yet possess no taste ; and 

A man may be gifted with correct taste, and 
yet want the sterling and useful quality, judgment. 

Both must be possessed in an eminent degree to 
form a great poet, a great painter, a great actor, 
a great musician. Separate them, or distribute 
them partially, and the person degenerates into 
the large class of mediocrity men. 

Taste, makes its appearance sooner in the 
mind than judgment. 

The person who possesses only taste in music, 
will play, but never can compose. 

The person who possesses only judgment in 
music, will compose, but never can compose with 
brilliancy* 

Invention and originality are eminently 
and essentially necessary in the mind of the poet, 
as well as taste and judgment. 

* It is hard to give exact definitions on such diffuse 
subjects in one line. If the reader understands my 
meaning , I am satisfied. 




108 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

To be a great poet, therefore, is harder than to 
be a great painter, actor, musician ; for 

There is something of mechanical adjunct in the 
three last; there is no such help to the poet. 

Doctor Johnson is an instance of a man 
possessing the most solid judgment, with no taste. 

Thomas Moore is an instance of a man pos¬ 
sessing the most sparkling taste, with no solid 
judgment. 

In music— Mozart is an instance of taste and 
judgment combined. 

In painting— Raffaelle is an instance of taste 
and judgment combined. 

In poetry— Shakespeare is an eminent in¬ 
stance of taste and judgment combined. 

In acting— Garrick is an instance of taste and 
judgment combined. 

Education may improve and expand taste and 
judgment; but 

If Nature does not give the qualities, they 
never can be acquired . 

Taste is more nearly allied to wit than judg¬ 
ment. 

You seldom see men of solid judgment, wits. 

Taste is the sole arbitress in dress—in deco¬ 
rating a room—laying out of pleasure grounds— 
ornamenting the interior of a theatre, both scenery 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 109 

and house—making improvements either in the 
city or the field—arranging prints, collections, 
books—dictating thoughts for the lighter pieces 
of prose and poetry, and giving from the mind to 
the manners of the gentleman (as it were by re¬ 
flection) a finished and winning demeanour. 

An architect without taste, is without eyes. 

A sculptor without taste, is truly without his 
hands. 

In playing from a book, taste is more neces¬ 
sary than judgment. 

The person who plays a “ solo” exactly as it is 
marked in the book, is no player. 

If you want to discover whether a musician pos¬ 
sesses true taste and judgment, tell him to play 
an extempore accompaniment to a piece which he 
has not heard before. There is nothing tries his 
talent like this. # 

In varying a musical theme, taste is more ne¬ 
cessary than JUDGMENT. 

In composing an overture both taste and judg¬ 
ment are a sine qua non . 

It is extremely easy to introduce graces in an 
Italian air, and extremely hard to introduce them 

* I never met but one person who could do this 
correctly and scientifically. 


110 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

in an Irish. In the former, taste should be the 
guide ; in the latter, judgment. 

The person who sings without taste, sings with¬ 
out a voice. 

Originality in composing a piece of music, is as 
necessary as in composing a piece of poetry. 

The Design of a painting, is what shows talent 
-—not the colouring of it. For this reason. Epic 
composition is harder than landscape or portrait 
painting. 

Episodial composition in poetry and painting is 
difficult. Music (a connected piece of music) 
does not admit of it, though I have heard it falsely 
asserted that it does. Wherever introduced, it is 
forced and unnatural. It must here be remembered, 
that the allegro movement of an overture is not 
episodical. 

Though the press teems with reviews and pe¬ 
riodical publications, yet are there but few writers 
who possess taste and judgment enough to con¬ 
stitute them censors either in music, poetry, or 
paintings 

The overture is the Epic of music. 

A person may compose a song, and not be at 
all able to compose an overture; but he who can 
compose an overture well , can compose any style 
of music. But, 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. Ill 

Many persons write overtures, who cannot write 
overtures. 

Universality of talent is the rarest gift of nature. 

Taste and judgment are gifts, not acquirements . 

There is not (strictly speaking,) any pathetic or 
comic character in English music; nor (strictly 
speaking,) is there any national character in it. 

There is a national character in the Irish music, 
which further possesses one amazing peculiarity, 
viz. that the deepest woe and the wildest mirth 
are discoverable in its strains. 

Taste has more to do with the general com¬ 
positions of Italy and France, than judgment. 

Sweetness and science are two extremes in 
music—both are not often combined in an eminent 
degree in one person. 

There is no music which reaches the heart , like 
the Irish ; other music catches the ear and fancy; 
sports round the imagination, and pleases it for a 
moment; but the pathetic of the Irish music 
t€ melts to the heart.” 

A medley overture is not an example of genius. 

Original graces and original turns, are extremely 
hard to introduce, either in composing or playing; 
but— 

It is possible to introduce a common grace or 
turn (with great skill) in an original manner. 


112 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

No person should be considered a legitimate 
judge of music, who is not a composer. 

In painting, this last rule should not be con¬ 
sidered strictly arbitrary. 

In poetry, no person should be considered a 
legitimate judge, who cannot write either prose or 
poetry. 

Would-be critics are very common— true critics 
very scarce. 

Gracefulness is the motion of taste. This 

(Gracefulness) is essentially necessary in dancing 
—in entering a room-—in riding—walking—in 
sitting on a sofa—addressing a superior—making 
a bow—placing the body in a proper attitude, 
either in the pulpit, on the stage, or in the forum 
—and in any action of a finished gentleman. 

Dancing, is the music of motion. # 

* I have heard somebody remark, that “ Dancing is 
the poetry of motion ! v Now this remark of the afore¬ 
said somebody is infinitely too refined and metaphysical 
for me. I can conceive music in motion ; but I never 
could conceive poetry in motion. The legs that could 
form poetry, must have been cleverer than even Ma¬ 
demoiselle Mercandotti’s, which said legs shot the 
heart of the hospitable Ball -lover, while other people 
use their eyes for this kind of storming. Perhaps 
Madame Vestris, Miss Foote, Miss Tree, the Opera 
dancers, cum multis aliis , could kindly inform the 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 113 

Painting, is poetry embodied in colours. 

Statuary, is life unanimated. 

Music, is eloquent poetry in sounds. And 

There is no art which speaks like music. 

Acting and oratory are the language of the 
hands, lips, and eyes. 

Poetry, is music, painting, and sculpture com¬ 
bined. 

Prose, is the repose (I use the word as a painter,) 
of poetry. 

Amatory poetry is the metrical music of love. 

Singing, is speech in sound. 

author whether they ever felt poetry in their pretty 
feet. I have seen all the above performers dance in 
different shapes, modes, and attitudes; but dash my 
buttons , (as gay old Fawcett jocosely hath it in Copp,) 
if I ever could perceive (sharp as my eye is) the 
divine and ecstatic art denominated poetry , in their 
feet. Perhaps the word feet, in the metre of poetry, 
suggested the idea to the somebody. I must here, 
however, remark, that an objection might be raised 
against me. I stop it by saying, that I have given a 
different and more suitable definition; and conclude 
by quoting the beautiful expression of an Irish pea¬ 
sant to a friend of the author’s who danced most 
gracefully— 

“ She shook the very music from her foot.” - 


i 


114 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

In all the above, I find taste and judgment 
to be pre-eminently necessary. 

Thus, my Lord, I have giyen you a large 
number of critical definitions. As a few minutes 
has written the entire, I am not prepared to enter 
into a minute or circumstantial enquiry as to the 
appropriate merits of each. It is relevant to you, 
to point out to me the defects of any, or all of 
them, and to furnish me with better or more suit¬ 
able ones, when you next address me. I consider 
that taste and judgment must be united—and not 
only united, but united, in an eminent degree , to 
form a great poet, painter, actor, and musician. 
There are other grades of life—-such as the states¬ 
man, the warrior, the accomptant, &c. where their 
junction and effect, are not so completely necessary. 
But in the other four, I consider them sine qua non’s. 
It is the want , or the separation of them, which 
gives us such lamentable instances of false talent; 
and which at present inundates the world with the 
swarms of productions of books, paintings, com¬ 
positions, and the vile rantings of the mock actor. 
Both the qualities I speak of, must act in con¬ 
junction. They cannot be separated without de¬ 
triment: for their action is reciprocal; and though 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 115 

a large share of judgment, and a large share of 
taste is desirable; yet if they are not equally ba¬ 
lanced, and largely distributed, the possessor never 
can attain to an eminence in those arts which I 
have above enumerated. And yet, my Lord, I 
must here also remark that, perhaps ’tis well they 
are not common. Were genius common, it would 
not be prized. Were beauty common, it would 
not be valued. 

If every one was a hero, a statesman, an actor, 
a poet, the world would not care about them. 
Genius must be rare, to make it genius. It must 
be left solely to that pre-eminent but wayward 
goddess nature, to distribute her precious gifts 
as she chooses. She will not be constrained. 
Her dowers cannot be bought. With the wayward 
fantasy of a beautiful woman she is wafted along 
this world (her dominion) on the buoyant and 
magic wings of Fancy; and just as the happy 
freak enters into her impartial head, she selects— 
owns—adopts. Her favourites (and how few are 
they!) are never neglected by her. They are ever 
and always her supreme and sovereign delight. 
When she does get into this happy mood, she 
never does her work by halves. When she does 
wish to make a poet, (witness the bard of Avon,) 
how complete is her work. When she does wish 

i 2 



116 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

to make a statesman, (witness Chatham,) how 
perfect is the moulding. When she does wish to 
make an actor, (witness Garrick) how gifted was 
her son. When she does wish to make a musician, 
(witness Mozart,) how divine is the composition. 
But then it is about once in a hundred (perhaps 
a thousand) years, that the wanton goddess is in 
these freaks. With ruthless negligence she hurries 
from the prince to the peasant, from the peasant 
to the king, from the king to the mine digger, 
from the mine digger back to nobility again; and 
just as she happens to be i’th’ vein,” (totally 
regardless of titles, birth, and wealth) she calls her 
favourite, leads him by the hand, and at length 
crowns him with her green and unfading laurels.. 

I shall now glance at oratory—both that of the 
forum and the stage. 

In speaking of rhetorical expression, I shall 
commence with a line, than which I know nothing 
more correct, just, or true, from the Rosciad of 
the celebrated Churchill. 

It is the manner which gives strength to all. 

In conjunction with this, I shall also quote a 
line from one whom I look on to be no bad judge 
in such matters—Chesterfield. “ The manner is 
as important as the matter” 

Hand the finest sermon by a Tillotson or a 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 117 

Kirwan to a bad preacher—give the best piece of 
oratory by a Canning or a Chatham, to a would- 
be speaker; and I would as soon hear a ballad 
singer enact. Where then lies the secret charm ? 
Where the undefinable, winning, and powerful 
spell, which the orator or the actor uses when he 
speaks? I answer it is in the manner . Fora 
proof of this, I ask the reader to pass any day 
into the law courts, or to the House of Commons, 
and he will there often hear the soundest sense, 
the best arguments, the most elaborate proposi¬ 
tions laid down by persons who have not the 
manner , and who will not win on his mind or 
captivate his ear, (and many such names could I 
reckon up.) I shall now ask of him to pass into 
the same places, and tell him to listen to those 
sound arguments—to those elaborate composi¬ 
tions, spoken by the splendid and brilliant orator; 
and I shall then ask him, if his mind is uncon¬ 
vinced —then ask him if his ear is uncaptivated. 

I wait not for his answer. I fearlessly answer for 
him, and say no. 

“ It is the manner which gives strength to all.” 

Yet again. Tell Kean to speak his opening 
speech in his inimitable and powerful Richard— 
listen and be delighted. Tell some wretched actor 


118 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

to repeat the same—sicken and be disgusted 
Where lies the difference, the charm which capti¬ 
vates in the one and disgusts in the other ? In the 
manner. Manner is to the actor and the orator, 
what touch is to the piano or the harp. String 
the harp ever so beautifully—tune the piano ever 
so correctly, and run the finger badly over it, and 
the melody pleases not—the airs are discord. 
Hand now the harp to the bold musician, and 
mark the melody that rings from it. The ear 
tires not. It listens long and delighted to it. 
(And here, my Lord, if I wished to pay a compli¬ 
ment, I could easily find a fair and graceful form 
not very far from your house, with whose playing 
my very ear has been chained, and whose sweet 
turns and touches are yet recollected by that ear.) 
To such a harper the ear can listen in rapt atten¬ 
tion. To such an orator, the same ear can turn* 
“ and think down hours to moments.” The 
harper plays—the orator speaks. In either case, 
Tis music. When Cicero was making those noble 
appeals to the senate of Rome to save his country, 
and was standing unabashed and undaunted be¬ 
fore the terrific and lawless Catiline—when Chat¬ 
ham stood forth before the assembly of the first 
empire in the world, and delivered his sublime 
orations for the prosperity of the country which 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 119 

was nearest to his heart; who is it that did not 
feel “ the mind—the music ” (as Lord Byron 
beautifully says) breathing and burning from their 
eloquent lips ? 

If the harp has music in it, so has the voice. 
When combined with manner , it has a thousand¬ 
fold power in it, and sways beyond any harp. 
The voice is a harp. Take the voice and the 
manner away, and the actor and orator are actu¬ 
ally a cypher. A speech badly delivered, is like 
a piece of music badly played. It is impossible 
the ear can feel pleased with either and if the 
ear is captivated, be assured that the mind will 
follow. If the actor or the orator wishes to per¬ 
suade, it is not by what he has to say, but by the 
manner in which it is said, that he can accomplish 
his object. Mere speaking will not do. Mere 
motion of the hands and feet—measured looks— 
studied starts—dropping the voice at the tag end 
of a period—all these have nothing to do with 
rhetorical expression. They disgust. Rhetorical 
expression is a just and beautiful combination of 
the language of the eyes, lips, countenance, arms, 
and body. Nature must here be the guide. They 
all must move in concert. All must act together. 
Each must be dependant on the other, and be 
under such perfect and complete controul of the 





120 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

possessor, that he can summon at his will, that 
which he chooses to call into action. Graceful¬ 
ness and brilliancy are two very essential requi¬ 
sites in an orator. There are two capital examples 
in the present day for both of these. I know no¬ 
thing better tharl the manner of Mr. Peel for the 
first; and for the last. Canning is a special ex¬ 
ample. The first is a most desirable and winning 
quality. Without it, speech is almost nothing; 
and it is just as requisite in the senate as on the 
stage. I do not see much of it in either of these 
places. The great study of the present day drives 
it from the stage; and the want of talent, makes 
it rare in parliament. There is a graceful suavity 
in the manner of Mr. Peel, which I think is 
greatly becoming; and it is seen to advantage in 
him, as he has not been taught . Cicero tells us 
that an orator should not be “ vastus .”—His 
figure must be graceful. This shows what a keen 
sense he had of what was requisite in a speaker. 
A celebrated critic also tells us. 

The actor’s province, they but vainly try 

Who want these things—deportment, voice, and eye. 

In this I readily agree. It is impossible that a 
man can possess rhetorical expression if he is not 
gifted with all these. A quick and keen eye (and 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 121 

I never saw real talent with a dull one) is necessary 
to give expression to the face. “ Voice” is indis¬ 
pensably necessary to give effect to the words, and 
make them reach the heart. And “ deportment” is 
essential to give a finish to the entire, and throw 
a winning charm over the gait, the step, and air. 

In speaking (as well as in singing) care should 
be taken to open the mouth, and give free vent to 
the words, taking care to mark the emphatic 
words, and vary the voice as the sense and as the 
author intend. It is excessively hard to know 
ivell how to manage the arms ; and even in the 
graceful art of dancing, it is not every one who 
knows how to carry the body properly from the 
hips upward. A single raising of the arm will 
often speak more than the most studied swagger¬ 
ing of them ; and one of the hardest things in the 
actor or orator is to beget what Hamlet calls “ a 
temperance and a smoothness.” It is just as dif¬ 
ficult in comedy as tragedy, and unless nature 
directs, art never can attain it. The position of 
the body standing should also be attended to, and 
in the forum or on the stage it should not be neg¬ 
lected. In waiting to take up a part (while the 
other is speaking) the actor should not stand as if 
he were a statue, or as if he were waiting for some 
sign (and I really fear it is often the case) from 


122 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

his interlocutor to begin. The deception should 
be kept up as much as possible, and the dialogue 
should appear easy, flowing, and natural, and 
not as if it were got off* to repeat like a parrot. 
The dress should also correspond with the charac¬ 
ter, and be consonant to it. I have seen actors 
and actresses so load and besmear themselves with 
ornaments and tassels, that they looked more like 
mountebanks than ladies and gentlemen. Taste 
must here be the guide; and it is very possible 
(in comedy) for a dress to be splendid without 
being genteel—for a person to put on the clothes 
without the manners (the grand requisite) of the 
gentleman, and for a performer to mistake levity 
for humour, mimickry for nature, and studied 
negligence for grace and ease; which two last 
things are perhaps the very hardest for either actor 
or gentleman to acquire. 

The dress of the bar I think an help to an orator. 
The senator wants it. In a painting, we always 
see the pencil employed to dress the figure grace¬ 
fully and pleasingly ; and West, when he painted 
his €€ Marc Anthony haranguing,” and his 
“ Christ rejected,” # knew well that his draperies 

* These pictures are masterpieces. I never saw 
grouping in painting till I saw “ Christ rejectednor 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 123 

should be attended to, and he has accordingly 
done so. 

The face is also another peculiar care of the ac¬ 
tor ; and the school of study informs him, that 
unless his eyebrows are besmeared so as to look 
like soot—his cheeks daubed until they appear 
like glowing beef-steaks—his wig curled with the 
nicety of a head in a barber’s window—and his 
cheeks with plumpers in them to stick them out— 
he never can succeed in getting admiration from 
the critic’s row in the pit, or an ogle from some 
Miss in the boxes. The actor who wants expres¬ 
sion—the female who wants beauty alway resorts 
to these aids; and in the morning both are the 
most frightful of animals. The school of study 

did I ever see sublimity till I saw his transcend ant picture 
of u Death on the pale Horse.” It would be a hazard¬ 
ous thing to find fault with such a master, and perhaps 
it might be deemed hypercriticism to say that the last 
picture is too crowded. He, however, had so many 
things to express, that it must have been indeed hard: 
to have included them all in one sheet of canvass. 
The figure protecting the dying female from the infu¬ 
riated horse, is delightfully episodical. No amateur 
of painting should live in England without seeing these 
three pictures. Were I to include a fourth, I would 
mention his “ Cupid complaining to Venus.” 


124 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

says—walk by rule, speak by rule, act by rule, 
and even paint by rule. To such egregious 
lengths even is it carried, that I heard an actor 
say, that, when a boy, he was informed by a stage 
manager, “ that he might be able to hand a chair 
to a female (simple as it might appear) very well 
in a drawing-room, yet he never could do it on 
the stage !!” Now I go in direct contradiction to 
this, and say it is infinitely harder to hand it in a 
drawing-room than on the stage. 

I before spoke of gracefulness. Without it the 
actor and orator are nothing. Mr. Peel is the 
best model in the senate, and I think Mr. Kemble 
is our most graceful actor. I much regret to find 
his voice failing him, and that age should appear 
so on him. When a young man he must have 
possessed the quality eminently, and €€ the grace¬ 
ful levity of youth” is no easy thing to catch on 
the stage. There are few things where study can 
be so easily perceived as any attempt to catch 
gracefulness. Handsome figure and innate gen¬ 
tility of manner are essential requisites for it, 
and without these it never can be attained. 
Sweetness and flexibility of voice is also another 
requisite in rhetorical expression. Its charm is 
powerful; and I remember being told by a mem¬ 
ber of the Irish Parliament, that Jjtiey used fre- 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 125 

quently to go and listen to the silver tones of one 
of the then leading speakers (whose name I now 
forget,) though neither his arguments or periods 
were particularly brilliant. This kind of voice I 
do not often find in the bar, senate, or stage. It 
is a rare gift. I take it to be one of the most 
powerful instruments in the hands of the judicious 
orator or actor. It is like a harp delightfully 
tuned, which, when well played on, wins on and 
captivates the ear ; and, like that harp, can change 
(with infinitely more variety) its keys, and can be 
varied and modulated on with a power and a 
charm beyond any harp. 

Speaking and reading in private will improve it, 
or rehearsing on the sea shore, where the noise 
partly drowns it, will strengthen its tone. Dis¬ 
tinctness in its tones should be attended to, with¬ 
out at the same time laying stress on particular 
syllables or monosyllables. This is a barbarism : 
a nice ear will avoid it; and a wrong emphasis in 
a speech is as bad as a false note in music. In 
this respect 1 see a great similarity between speak¬ 
ing and music; and I cannot help saying, that 
unless a person has a nice ear for one, he cannot 
succeed in the other. 

As a model for action, the great orator is better 
to copy from than the actor. And the reason is that 


126 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

a leading orator will not study his speeches. Now, 
the actor does. In the orator, according as the 
words flow from him, so will the hands be raised 
and the face be lighted up, thus following the 
impulse and the passion of his subject. In the 
actor, the speech is made for him, and he has to 
adjust his hands and fix his attitudes to it pre¬ 
viously. Of this, the less the better ; and if the 
actor had talent enough to do so daring a thing, 
I could conceive scarcely any thing more delight¬ 
ful than to see him perform in a new play on a 
first night without having rehearsed. Every thing 
would then be dictated by his own genius, and 
we should find nature performing instead of art, 
its copyist. But Garrick is gone, and it is once 
in a hundred years that “ we shall look on his like 
again.” 

Imitation, or copying any particular speaker, 
is also a thing which should be strenuously avoid¬ 
ed. Genius never copies : “ originality,” says our 
leading poet, “ is a distinguishing mark of talent.” 
I once saw an actor in a provincial town copy even 
the voice (bad as it is) of Kean. In parliament I 
have also seen the leading men aped. Wherever 
this appears, genius is absent. Indeed, to be a 
distinguished and leading orator, and a distin¬ 
guished and leading actor are hard, very hard 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 127 

things. The former is more so than the latter. 
The speech is made in the latter—it is to be made 
in the former. The first has the senate of Eng¬ 
land to speak before and to please—the last a 
mixture of all sorts to gratify ; and the ground 
lings will often applaud when the true critic will 
condemn. And here I would remark, that I fear 
actors frequently strain at what, in their language, 
is deemed stage effect, merely to catch the ears of 
these groundlings, and thus raise a clap. “ This 
is vile.” If too, it is found by some lucky piece 
of stage trick, that a clap or a laugh is once raised 
it will be imitated by the next person who wants 
to purchase a plaudit at a cheap rate. Imitation 
in any respect is vile. # 

* “ The actor who would build a solid fame. 

Must imitation’s servile arts disclaim ; 

Act from himself—on his own bottom stand, 

I hate e’en Garrick at this second hand.” 

Churchill. 

I shall here introduce the following anecdote, which 
is perhaps not generally known. 

Prior to the publication of his celebrated satire by 
the above capital author, it somehow got wind that he 
was engaged in satirizing the gentlemen of small-ware 
talent . The poor would-be's were each and every of 


128 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 


Antithesis is a powerful figure in the hands of 
an orator. Climax and metaphor (the latter par- 

them in sore affright, and as it flew like wild-fire among 
them, and as they well knew his keen powers in that 
line, the whole armament of them were alive and buz¬ 
zing about; and they were every day watching him 
and prying after him to see when he would go into his 
bookseller’s with the awful instrument of their death in 
his hand. Some of them used to look big and 
gigantic at him, others would shake portentous whips at 
him some hundred yards from him, some would grin 
c ‘ ghastly smiles ” at him. Poor Churchill, amid all 
this “ hurly burly,” well knew that as long as a man 
threatens, so long will he never fight; and with an im¬ 
mensity of maliciousness he used to pretend to be deeply 
affected by them, and would ever and anon go into his 
bookseller’s. 

Now I certainly must own that this would be very 
appalling indeed (as John Bull saith) for a young author 
to go through, and yet I beg, with a world and a half 
of respect to inform the aforesaid gentlemen of small- 
ware talent of the present day, that I intend satirizing 
them, and that I shall publish it “ after convenience.” 
If it were possible for any of them to know me by sight, 
it would be the prettiest little farce in the world to see 
them go on as above. It really is amusing to see a man 
(I thought it only belonged to womankind”) go on 
with all this pretty little artillery and knickery-knack- 
ery. “ After this public notice, all would-be’s shall be 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 


129 


ticularly) are beautiful figures in such a man’s 
hands. They essentially belong to rhetorical ex¬ 
pression. In musical expression, even these can 
be somehow attended to, and I here again trace 
the similarity between rhetoric and music. Pro- 
sopopaeia is also another powerful figure. “ The 
author of Waverly ” has immense tact in embody¬ 
ing persons and scenes, and sketching them off so 
as to appear like copper-plates instead of letter- 
press in his leaves. In this respect, he is beyond 
any writer of the present day. But wit is per¬ 
fectly essential (and a sine qua non) in the hands 
of any one who aspires to be a brilliant orator. 
It is impossible to be this latter without it. It 
affords a readiness and a quickness in replying to 

prosecuted ” who do not hate me as per above. And 
yet satire is a rare gift; so rare, that I shall fail in it. 
But one man (since the death of the giant Byron) is 
gifted with it—the immortal author of the Bseviad and 
Maviad. 

But if some man more daring than the rest, 

Should dare attack these gnatlings in their nest; 

At once they rise with impotence of rage, 

Whet their small stings and buzz about the stage. 
What! shall opinion then be chain’d ? 

No ! though half-poets with half-players join. 

Churchill, 

k 



130 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

your antagonist; and often by a happy stroke or 
brilliant expression turns the argument on him. 
An orator must also have the power of concentra¬ 
tion. He must put his adversary’s arguments into 
the narrowest compass, and seize on his weak 
parts, and also be able to instantly catch the 
slightest opening which he makes. This is the 
most powerful mode of attack ; and the man who 
turns his own arguments against his opponent, 
and fights him on his own ground, is ever the 
most able and talented speaker. Satire (I mean 
true satire) is also another pre-eminent auxiliary. 
The man who has it in perfection, can crush his 
enemy even to his feet; and we all have seen with 
what terrific force Junius once wielded it. I know 
nothing in the English language (in this style) 
beyond these letters, for classic elegance, force, 
terseness, and mighty satire. His letters stand 
alone and unrivalled, nor since their appearance 
(nor even before it) has there anything appeared 
which can equal them. Canning (of our present 
speakers) possesses this quality richer than his 
cotemporaries. Brougham has it also. This 
latter gentleman has the method which I above 
described, of seizing on his adversary’s words, and 
turning them either by wit or satire (these are dis¬ 
tinct, though they often go hand in hand) to his 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 131 

own advantage; and I once heard him in parlia¬ 
ment turn the argument completely on his adver¬ 
sary, by catching some of his words and turning 
them into ludicrous wit. His manner wants the 
suavity of Peel. Peel’s wants the energy of 
Brougham. Canning steers somewhat a middle 
course. In a word, if a speaker could catch the 
gracefulness of Peel—the nerve of Brougham— 
and the brilliancy of Canning, he would be a 
finished and a complete orator. 

When I recollect this, my Lord, I almost think 
that the task which I would engage in is nearly 
hopeless. I here allude to the great study and 
technicality of the acting; and the excessive for¬ 
mality, want of truth, and vapidity of the dra¬ 
matic pieces of the present day. Strange as 
it may appear (to those who form schools of acting,) 
yet I must distinctly assert, that study is the 
ruin of the actor. It, perhaps, will appear still 
stranger, when I assert, (and am prepared to 
maintain it,) that there has been but one genuine 
comedy (oh, tempora !) written since the pro¬ 
duction of that unrivalled piece of comic humour 
—wit—and character — i€ The School for Scandal.” 
It is not my intention to enter now into the 
causes of this, as I intend to reserve it for a future 

k 2 


132 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

Essay; but it certainly is my intention to allude 
to studied acting. 

As prefatory matter then to those remarks which 
your Lordship has requested from me; I must 
inform you (which I was not aware of until lately,) 
that there are schools of acting in London—re¬ 
gular masters who drill into their poor scholars 
“ the art, secret, and mystery” of acting ; exactly, 
I presume, as your Lordship’s relative orders his 
adjutant to put the men of the regiment through 
their facings! ! Here, my Lord, is the secret— 
this the cause of nature being banished from the 
stage. The actor is not left to his own discretion, 
his own judgment; but his talent (if he has any,) 
is warped — twisted — screwed—and at length 
ruined, by their regius professors and histrionic 
mystery. After breakfast, he goes to be taught; 
after supper (for even at night, I am told, it is kept 
up) he goes to be taught; and then, when he 
comes home, to share perhaps, in the domestic 
comforts of his friends and family, he again runs 
over c< the dull dry lesson,” for the next day’s 
rehearsal. My Lord, this is vile. I care not 
whether these regius professors get angry or not 
at my impugnment of their system; I do pro¬ 
nounce it, not only vile, but ruinous and detri - 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 133 

mental. What, my Lord ! Teach a man how to 
walk into a large room boarded like any other 
room, and hung round with scenery instead of 
paper hangings. Teach a man how to talk to his 
fellow brethren, and repeat words which are before¬ 
hand made for him. Teach a man how to address 
himself as a gentleman to those who are around 
him—to walk in, walk out, sit in a chair, raise his 
hands up and down, and make his legs move one 
before the other, and all this because he happens 
to be on a large area called a stage, and not in a 
private drawing-room ! My Lord, it may require 
teaching , but I unhesitatingly say, that the taught 
actor is the spoiled actor. Who taught Garrick ? 
Who instructed Chatham ? (and it must here be 
observed, that I by no means wander from my 
subject when I class forensic and theatrical elo¬ 
quence together.) Who taught Cicero ? Who 
Demosthenes ? Who the brilliant Canning, or 
the graceful Peel ? Who taught Kemble how to 
do his Mirabel, Kean his Richard, or Miss O’Neil 
her Juliet ? Who taught the celebrated Kilkenny 
amateurs how to perform their parts ? You, my 
Lord, have seen this classical and elegant com¬ 
pany of amateurs, and you can bear me out in 
saying that there was no character which they 
performed, that did not rival, and oftentimes sur - 


134 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

pass the same characters performed in London or 
Dublin. ’Tis true, my Lord, that all those per¬ 
sons whom I have above-mentioned had an in¬ 
structor. But, who was that instructor ? Nature . 
“ Enchanting nature !” as the poet most justly 
calls her. When nature once fixes on a favourite, 
he requires no help from art; and I fearlessly 
assert, that the man who cannot act unless he is 
taught, should never attempt the hazardous task 
of wielding the hearts of his audience. If he 
cannot do it by nature, can he do it by art ? What 
is art ? Tis a vile, second-hand thing that mimics 
nature. It wants the stamp and glowing colour 
of the original—its boldness, freedom, and fresh¬ 
ness. It wants those master strokes—those ini¬ 
mitable touches — those transient, delicate, but 
electrical flashes, which fall on the heart with de¬ 
lightful and hurried ravishment, and like the tones 
of that harp which the divine Milton described. 

Take 

The prisoned soul, and lap it in Elysium! 

This is the acting of nature. Ask me to prac¬ 
tically describe it to you, and I cannot. It as¬ 
sumes a thousand different forms, but all true, all 
correct. Tell such an actor as I am now descri¬ 
bing, to perform a character, and on the leading 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 135 

points of it, he will make a hundred different va¬ 
riations, all of which shall be natural.* But— 
tell the poor taught creature to perform a cha¬ 
racter, and exactly as he performs it on the first 
day of January, one thousand eight hnndred and 
twenty-five, so exactly will he perform it on the 
first day of January, one thousand eight hundred 
and twenty-six. Here lies the immeasurable dis¬ 
tance between the true actor and the would-be. 
The would-be, has no idea of acting a character 
beyond one particular stated way. He studies 
for a week perhaps at a character, measures it by 
rule and compass, lays down a scale of inches, 
marks on what particular board he is to walk,*!* 

* I have seen Miss O’Neil perform the scene with 
her nurse in her inimitable Juliet, in three different 
ways, all of which were correct and natural. 

f The following anecdote, taken from Macklin’s life, 
is far too good to be omitted here. Macklin was en¬ 
gaged to perform some of his leading characters in a 
certain town (I believe Dublin). Intending to perform 
the part of “ Shylock,” on the night to which I allude, 
and wishing to give some particular point to one of the 
principal passages of the play, he told one of the dis¬ 
ciples of the school of study (guessing, I suppose, his 
stupidity) not to speak, until he put his foot on a 
certain nail iti a certain board . Macklin spoke, but 
the said Macklin forgot to put his foot on the said nail, 


136 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

fixes a glass before him, and calculates the aphelion 
and perihelion of the orbit of the hand to the 
heart, marks at what line he is to take off his 
glove, at what period he is to take out his pocket- 
handkerchief,* and how obtuse or acute the 
angle of his body shall be, when he is going to 
make a grand— a remarkably grand exit entirely , 
in the shape and fashion of—a super-superlative 
bow. My Lord, I call this, acting by steam. In 
truth, I know not what to call it. It is beyond 
my limited and circumscribed comprehension en¬ 
tirely. I can’t understand studied acting; but I 
can vividly and delightedly understand natural 
acting. It is the very soul of a character. It is 
that which gives it life—animation—zest. Take 
it away, and you take away the words of it. Give 

at the fitting and proper time. “ Why don't you 
speak, and be cursed to you," said the enraged tra¬ 
gedian. “ Why don't you put your foot on the nail," 
was the happy and inimitable reply. Stare, my Lord, 
or laugh, whichever you like. 

* There is one actor whom I have seen perform, but 
I never saw him come out on the stage yet, that he did 
not take out his handkerchief at a particular part. I 
however must not omit to mention, that the last time I 
saw him, he took it out with his right hand instead of 
his left. May the heavens kindly bless him for it! 
it was an amazing relief to me. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 137 

it this magic charm, and you give it every thing . 
If I am asked what it is, I cannot define it. It 
plays in the quick glances of the eye, in the grace¬ 
ful action of the hands, in the rapid or retarded 
motion of the feet—directs the soft and suasive 
accents of the voice in Romeo, and collects and 
pours forth its thunder in Macbeth and Richard 
—sits on the features of the face in acute despair, 
when it would thus mould the countenance, and 
with its magic sway can even speak , though the 
tongue be silent! Even in music does this “ spell 
and charm” act, and it sits on the eloquent lips of 
the enchantress Stephens* when she is pouring 
her wfild and native melodies on the ear—directs 
the mellow thunder of a Braham, when his 
voice rolls in volumes through the theatre, or wafts 
and varies it in a thousand tones in his graceful 
** ad libitum ”—or guides the enlightened notes of 
Weber in his rapid and rapturous movements. 
Yes, nature ! I know thee—feel thee—bow to 
thee—but my pen fails when it would try to catch 
thee and paint thee. 

I have been speaking of the power of nature in 
acting, and I here am led to advance another pro¬ 
position, which I am aware will to some appear 


* This lady is an instance of the natural in singing. 


138 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 

strange. I say then, that it is infinitely harder to 
perform the part of a finished gentleman in any 
fashionable drawing-room, for one night, than it 
is to perform the leading character of a comedy. 
Why? In a comedy the words are made for you. 
In the drawing-room you have to make them 
yourself; and any deviation from which, either in 
grammar or elegance, will infallibly set you down 
as a would-be gentleman. Also, to carry on the 
character of a finished gentleman for the night, 
you must be a politician with the politician—a 
man of business with the merchant—be able to 
descant on music, poetry, and the fine arts, with 
those who are disciples of them—introduce light 
and pleasant talk to the females—fling your wit 
about with the brilliant barrister-—talk of Hebrew 
and Latin to the scholar—and support a winning 
and gentlemanly address throughout the entire 
night. I therefore laugh when I am told that it 
is harder to personate fictitious than real life; and 
I am perfectly confident that my eye would in¬ 
stantly catch the would-be actor in a drawing¬ 
room, from the harshness and stiffness which for 
ever clings to him: the rule and compass system 
follows him wherever he goes; and I scarcely 
know any quality harder to attain than that of the 
ease of the gentleman : unless it sits naturally on 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 139 

you, it cannot sit on you. You will here of course 
ask me what remedy I would propose, in place of 
the study system. # I instantly reply, if the actor 
cannot act without being taught, let him never 
attempt the stage; and, if he does not require all 
this proposed course of discipline and tutoring, 
let him be left to his own judgment. What says 
the first master that ever wrote on the subject? 

“ Let your own discretion be your tutor . 

I will take—I can take no authority beyond this. 
If then the man has not “ discretion”—if he has 
not judgment, let him even turn his back grace¬ 
fully on the stage, and not bore the town with his 
insanity. My Lord, I laugh at these words, but 
they have slipped out from my pen, and I really 
cannot go blot my paper, (I hate your blotters) 

* New performers are regularly announced in the 
bills as “ pupils” of such and such a one. Pupils!! 
are you laughing, my lord ? Does not this appear as 
outre as if a new poet was announced in the title page 
of his book, as pupil to Mr. Campbell, or pupil to Mr. 
Moore ? or as if a new member of Parliament was an¬ 
nounced as pupil to Mr. Canning, or pupil to Mr. Peel ? 
Alas ! I would these four gentlemen could take pupils 
and save us from the would-be ? s. Perhaps there never 
was an age so delightfully and obligingly prolific in 
gentlemen of small ware talent , as the present. God 
bless them all particularly ! Amen ! 


140 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

and send my nice gilt-edged sheets of “ Bath 
superfine” with nasty blotted lines to the drawing¬ 
room of your Lordship. But let me return to the 
inimitable advice from whence I have quoted the 
above line. 

“ Any thing overdone (and studied acting is al¬ 
ways overdone) is from the purpose of playing. 
Any thing overdone, or come tardy off, though it 
make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the 
judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, 
in your allowance, overweigh a whole theatre of 
others. “ Oh ! there be players that I have seen 
play(and, my good Lord, there be players that 
you and I have seen play,) “ and heard others 
praise, and that highly (let me recall the scene 
in Dublin, my Lord,) “ not to speak it profanely, 
that neither having the accent of Christians, nor 
the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have so 
strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some 
of nature’s journeymen had made men, and not 
made them well, they imitated humanity so abo¬ 
minably!” Ah me! my Lord, this picture is not 
overcharged—not in the least too highly coloured. 
Never was ranting or studied acting so inimitably 
or so masterly defined. How nice must have been 
the ear—how exquisite the conception of what a 
finished actor should be, to Shakespeare, when he 
Mrote the above lines. You will here at once ask 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 141 

me, “ if he had this keen sense of propriety and 
nature of acting, why was not he a great actor?” 
My Lord, would you really want to set the entire 
world laughing at dame nature for such a perfectly 
preposterous frolic. Would you want to have such 
an outrageous monopoly of talent in one man, as 
to be a great poet and a great actor. It is such a 
thing as the world never heard of. There is no 
man in his sober senses who would not have 
scouted at the wanton and freakish goddess for 
making such an outrage on nature. She was very 
near doing it with that eatfra-favourite of her’s, 
Garrick ; but you perceive, my Lord, she thought 
it would be most divine nonsense, and she accord¬ 
ingly thought better of it, and made him the great 
actor and the little poet. It is true, when she 
does take one of these freaks into her noddle there 
is no accounting for what she may do; and if 
once she falls in love with any young fellow in her 
giddy rambles through the world, (that is, if she 
falls regularly in love with him,) she will take 
him home with her, and totally forgetful of the 
modesty of her sex, will play with him in her lap, 
kiss him, fondle him, take him out with her to 
walk, show him and point out to him with a skill 
and a touch that none but she possesses, the 
beauties of her wide domain; lead him through 


142 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

her foaming cataracts, her mazy woods, her 
spangled grottoes; and even placing him on the 
downy and brilliant wings of her fancy, waft him 
through her realms of space, show him her starry 
and studded skies, her wheeling spheres rolling 
to the music of the harp of night, point out to him 
her fearful storms and tempests, and then bid him 
paint, feel, describe! 

But alas! my Lord, these freaks she but seldom, 
very seldom gets into. Stubborn and untractable, 
she must be left solely to herself 5 and so nice is 
she in her choice—so fastidious is she in her taste, 
that the veriest and proudest beauty that ever 
graced a drawing-room is not half so niggard of 
her smiles or her favours as the giddy nymph that 
I have been above describing. Shakespeare and 
Sheridan—Pope and Otway—Byron, Garrick, 
and Kemble are gone, and she now but frowns 
(instead of smiling) on the pigmies that crowd 
and usurp her domain. # 

* I was in company, some time ago, with a member 
of Parliament, whose taste for the drama was both 
correct and judicious. The topic of conversation was 
the declining state of genuine comedy in the present 
day ; and I made some remarks on one of the epheme¬ 
ral dramas. a Do not blame it, Sir, said the critic, 
it is a capital one- for the present day !” I remained 
silent. The remark seemed unanswerable. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 143 

I am ready to perceive, my Lord, that you will 
ask me what is the cause of this declining state of 
the drama. This would lead me into a very large 
and w r ide discussion, and I therefore should prefer 
reserving it to a future opportunity. I, however, 
really cannot help saying, that I do not think it is 
for want of encouragement in the managers of 
either of the national theatres. Nothing can be 
more spirited or liberal than the manner in which 
the management of both houses is conducted; so 
that if “ the gay and laughing Thalia’’ is dead, 
she has not been sent to her grave by neglect on 
the part of those people. On the contrary, my 
Lord, I am very positive they would shake hands 
with her most cordially, were she to show her 
. smiling lips and funny eyes again; but since our 
mutual favourite, the immortal Sheridan , went, 
she followed him to his grave, and there in grief 
yet mourns over him, unmoved by one smile of 
mirth from her temple—unawoke by one scene of 
genuine humour from her dull and prosing sons! 
If it would so please your Lordship, I would ex¬ 
tremely wish that your Lordship, when you next 
visit Parnassus, would contrive to present her 
with “ one thousand and one” compliments, re¬ 
spects and good wishes from me. You may fur¬ 
ther inform her (“ confession is good for the soul”) 


144 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

that I have been head over ears in love with her 
ever since I was a boy, and that, if I could once 
get near her, I would give her the most nefarious 
kissing that ever either mortal or immortal got. 
You smile, my Lord; but to carry on my meta¬ 
phors, I plainly tell you that, were I to meet her 
in a drawing-room in “ this diurnal sphere/’ I 
should sit by her the entire night; for her counte¬ 
nance has something in it which attracts and wins 
me, more than her sad (though interesting) sister, 
Melpomene. Let me paint her, for I see her 
plainly before me. 

Her eyes are blue—dark, sparkling, brilliant 
blue. Her cheeks are covered with blushes which 
she has stolen from the morning beams of that 
“ rude drunkard, the rosy sun.” Her hair—her 
thick and auburn hair is floating around her in 
waving and wanton curls, and serves as a kind of 
covering to her Venus-shaped limbs, which are 
partly seen through the floating gauze which but 
ill conceals the lower part of her exquisitely turned 
and bare legs—for I am ashamed to say, my Lord, 
she never thinks of wearing a garter. She is 
dancing—her lips apart, and disclosing pearls 
which mock the glittering shells that spangle the 
caves of the Indian water nymphs. A wreath of 
roses is flung round her shoulder, and she is also 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 145 

flinging them from her, round her path with one 
hand, while the other holds her risible mask. 
There are no pearls in her hair, nor are there any- 
braided ornaments round her brow—her eyes are 
the sole diamonds that she wears; and the 
“ quips and cranks and smiles” that are glancing 
from them, tell how infinitely mocked would be 
the rarest diamond by their side. Her bosom is 
full and prominent, “ on whose top, the pinks 
that grow, are of those that April wears.” Her 
neck, high and commanding. Her shoulders 
firmly set, and most delicately sloped. Her arms 
white, round, and tapering—waist, slender and 
graceful—step, light and airy—limbs, uncovered 
and buoyant.—She is singing. Listen. 

1 . 

Away! away ! o’er the wild flowers fleeting, 

I roam thus on ’mid my heaven of smiles, 

And every woe that my bright eye is meeting, 

I turn to that joy, which care best beguiles. 

Fleet from me care—fleet away—fleet away ! 

Thou never may’st come ’mid my laughing retreat; 
But come to me joy; sweet joy! with me stay, 

And fling thy bright roses around my gay feet. 

2 . 

Oh, here ? mid my bowers of laughter and roses, 

I live amid joys which I never let die, 


L 


146 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

For if on my path, a sad cloud e’er discloses, 

I turn it to beams, with the smile of my eye. 

Away ! then away ! thus I buoyantly trip, 

Nor sorrow, nor care comes wherever I flee; 

With the smile in my eye—with the kiss on my lip, 
Oh, who could cause grief to such a sweet one as me! 

Now, my Lord, here is a whole string of poetry, 
and a whole string of prose, but “ by the Ghost 
of Roller,” as Schiller has it, I know not how it 
slipped out of my pen. Shall we call it a lapsus 
ink-and-bottle-w /—as I do not exactly know what 
the genitive case of this new Latin word is; I 
must leave it to your Lordship to fix properly, 
and in the mean time request of you to pardon 
me should you bring in a verdict of “ wilful 
trespass” against me. Your Lordship must how¬ 
ever further perceive that I have been guilty of a 
most vile anomaly. For, I have said that Thalia 
was as it were dead, and weeping her bright eyes 
out, over the grave of Sheridan; and above, I 
have made her, dancing! My Lord, this is too 
bad. I however have painted her the way I 
should wish to see her, not in the doleful and sad 
plight that she is in ; for I would much rather see 
“ Beauty in smiles” than “ Beauty in tears.” 

But to my subject. Before I proceed farther in 
my Letter, I can perceive your Lordship is asking 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 147 

me, u How is the natural style of acting which I 
have been speaking of, to be acquired ?” My 
Lord, it cannot be acquired. If nature does not 
bestow it; all the study, all the lessons, all the 
veriest labour, will never throw round the actor 
this natural grace. The moment he attempts to 
catch it, the awkwardness with which it sits on 
him, is to a quick eye, instantly perceived ; and 
though I say that it cannot be acquired, yet I 
fearlessly assert that should he enroll himself in 
the school of study (to be taught it) it will be infi¬ 
nitely worse. I therefore again say, let him give 
up any hope of being able to hold any sway over 
the hearts of an audience, if nature does not 
fit him for the task. Should these lines meet the 
eye of any young man who has an unfortunate 
predilection for the stage, I warn him (and his 
best friend would but do the same) to never 
attempt setting foot on the stage unless his talent 
for it is of genuine stamp . It will in the end be 
only his ruin. For, unless he can rise to eminence 
either in the comic or tragic line, what life is there 
more idle—what more useless ? If he is obliged 
to go to school, the labour which he then uses, 
will just enable him to get off his part correctly, 
saw his hand in the air, use his feet in regular 
time, and—nothing more. Imagine such a per- 

l 2 



148 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

son coming into a genteel and fashionable drawing¬ 
room, with his studied bows and scrapes, his stiff 
demeanour, his automaton conversation—his shreds 
of Shakespeare and Sheridan, and then contrast 
him with the finished and easy address of the 
gentleman yonder, his graceful and unembarrassed 
deportment, suasive conversation, and classical 
language. Contrast them thus, and then see the 
infinite difference. This (a straining for the effect) 
is the rock which so many of our actors and 
actresses split on. They think that the moment 
they come in on the stage, they must do some¬ 
thing very fine—very grand —very sublime ; and 
they are on thorns until they get an opportunity 
of making some fine, ranting, tatter-tearing 
speech; they think also they must do this, just 
because they happen to be on a stage, and a 
parcel of well dressed people looking at them. 
You will here then say—“ acting is easy.” My 
Lord, it is excessively hard . The difficulty con¬ 
sists in possessing judgment, to know where to 
introduce the simple thing of raising the hand, 
advancing the foot, swelling or lowering the voice, 
and frowning or smiling with the eye. Here lies 
the extreme difficulty ; and simple as it may here 
appear; it is about one in a hundred that know 
how to do it. Yet again. What should the stage 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 149 

be (in comedy) but , a fashionable drawing-room ? 
This I know is quite a startling query to the pre¬ 
sent day; but I unhesitatingly say, that to carry 
on the illusion correctly , the stage, and those who 
move on it, should appear to those who are look¬ 
ing on, as if a suite of rooms were thrown open to 
them, and that they were admitted to hear the 
inmates converse. If then we look on the stage in 
this light, (and I am content to enter into contro¬ 
versy with any person to support my theory,) if, I 
say, we look on the stage in this light; how de¬ 
lightful—how almost fascinating, appears the 
acting of the natural performer. But I shall here 
be told by the Regius Professors that there is no 
effect from this kind of acting. I am perfectly 
positive that to the eye of taste, there is infinitely 
more effect, than from the most studied, most 
laboured piece of performance. What was it 
made Garrick’s acting so delightful ? Because it 
was all nature. He could not be made to study— 
no more than the actor of study could be taught 
to personate nature. 

I am here to remark that in the view which I 
have taken of the stage (likening it to a drawing¬ 
room), I distinctly expel from it any and every 
species of that vile and hideous thing called 
melodrame . It is a thing unknown among writers 


150 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

of distinction, or actors of distinction. My re¬ 
marks more particularly apply to parts of tragedy, 
and the entire of genteel comedy. The melo¬ 
drama is a dramatic monster, fit only for fairs and 
public shows. It does not belong to real life . It 
has no connexion with the “ world of reality,” 
and if I had my wish, I would for ever banish it 
from that stage on which Garrick trod, and for 
which Shakespeare wrote. 

These observations lead me to speak of a farce 
which has become extremely popular (from inci¬ 
dental circumstances) during the last, season. I 
allude to the ever-memorable-and-never-to-be- 
forgotten farce of “ A Roland for an Oliver/’ 
My Lord, this is a farce, (I beg the said farce’s 
pardon, it is a comedy. Farces of two acts are 
now announced at all the theatres as comedies.) 
This, my Lord, is a comedy which is sustained by 
mad characters. The hero of it is mad, and the 
heroine of it is mad, and the servant is mad, and 
the servant’s wife is nearly mad, and poor “ Sir 
Mark Chase” (the only natural portrait in the 
play) most dolefully exclaims, that “ he is afraid 
he shall get in the family way, and become mad 
too !” In short, my Lord, it is a regular insane 

AFTERPIECE ! ! 

I am quite aware that I ought, “ Lightly tread. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 151 

as this is hallowed ground,” for the whole town 
has been running after this afterpiece. There are 
also the brilliant Mr. Jones, (an actor worth a whole 
dozen of would-be's,) and likewise the puissant 
Miss Foote, who perform in it; and I suppose 
they will forthwith apply to Sir Richard Birnie 
for a warrant to apprehend me should I criticize 
the play. But criticism must not necessarily 
glance from the performance to the performers . 
On the contrary, I am perfectly willing to suppose 
that but for these performers* the piece would not 

* It would be unfair were I not also to speak of 
Fawcett’s Sir Mark Chase. If, my Lord, you have 

ever seen the brother of Mr. - of Summer Hill, 

(that hospitable sportsman—that terror of all the 
snipe, partridge, and woodcock for ten miles round,) 
you have seen Sir Mark Chase. I have seen no one 
who so strongly reminds me of this known character. 
He wears even the same dress, and like him, keeps 
open house to all who choose to enter. There is one 
thing performed by Fawcett in this character which is 
beyond any thing performed by either Mr. Jones or 
Miss Foote. (I humbly go down on my two bare 
knees, and ask pardon .from mistress Maria Darlington 
for this want of gallantry.) I allude to the stamp, 

and accompanying “ D- me,” which he gives 

when Highflyer runs away with his gun. This is 
done so excessively natural, so impromptu; that I do 




152 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

have succeeded in the manner it has done. I 
have scarcely seen any piece which is so desti- 

not think 1 see him on the stage, but in a field where 
the fugitive has taken his piece and scampered over a 
hedge with it, which is too high for Sir Mark to get 
over. He also does another thing in the first act, ex¬ 
cessively droll. I allude to the outrageous kiss which 
he gives Miss Foote when he first sees her. My Lord, 
here is an old man of fifty or sixty, and were you to 
see him give this loving smack, you would think the 
poor girl’s lips were bit off! The instant he sees 
her -Whoop ! he flings up his hands and he cocks up 
his legs (in true sportsmanlike style), and he makes 
into her arms like a young scamp of five and twenty ! 

If the milliner of the aforesaid Mistress Darlington 
will look at the third finger of her left hand glove, 
she will perceive it most dreadfully torn, picked, and 
otherwise despitefully maltreated. When she tells 
“ Selborne 99 that she will never either look at or speak 
to Alfred Highflyer (this is a sublime name, my Lord) 
any more, (for his defalcation in gallantry,) she catches 
hold of this unfortunate finger, and pulls, drags, and 
tears at it as if Highflyer himself was embodied in the 
said finger, and she was pecking at him. Now I do 
most humbly and dutifully submit that she might 
catch hold of and drag at the thumb , by way of 
variety. If it was not done with such scrupulous and 
conscientious regularity (Ecce studium !) every time * 
she performs it, I should not notice it. I also have 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 153 

tute of situation , (situation belongs to genuine 
comedy,) and which is so full of stage trick, (stage 

another matter to notice, and it is my intention to by 
no means pass it over. There are two certain theatres 
in London, one of which is situated in Drury Lane, 
the other in Co vent Garden; and at these two said 
theatres I have heard the same overtures and sympho¬ 
nies played two or three times over in the course of 
a fortnight! Now this is “ a wretched way to dole 
out melody.” When I go to a minor theatre I am 
prepared to see things on a minor scale; but when I 
go to a national theatre, I expect to see every thing on 
a proper and suitable scale. I do not blame the ma¬ 
nagement for this, for they cannot well be aware of it, 
unless it were purposely mentioned to them; but it 
should be the business of the attendant of the orchestra 
to change the books at least twice a week, nor can I 
by any means suppose but that the music-room of two 
such theatres is well supplied with music. Now I 
know many who go to hear the music of the orchestra 
(and nothing can be more delightful when well per¬ 
formed) as much as to see the play. It may here be 
objected, that this kind of promiscuous playing might 
perhaps produce confusion, unless the pieces are pre¬ 
viously practised. I instantly reply to this—let no 
one attempt to play in the orchestra of a national 
theatre unless he is perfect master of his instrument, 
and can play at sight. Shall I remark, en passent, 
that the tone (the reader will please distinguish between 


154 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 


trick belongs to farces and melodrames.) Almost 
every scene in it is forced; and for the purpose of 
dragging a smile from the lips of the audience, 
such an infinity of knickery knackery and stage 

tone and execution) of the “ first clarionet” at Covent 
Garden Theatre is one of the sweetest I ever heard. I 
however think that the bassoon playing might (in soft 
airs) be “ emended It was infinitely too loud in the 
latter bars of the accompaniment to “ Home, sweet 
Home.” The voice was drowned. I am always glad 
when I see manuscript music in an orchestra. It 
speaks well for the leader; nor should I have the 
slightest objection to hear graces and cadenzas more 
frequently from the leaders of the national theatres. 
The execution of a Kiesewetter, and the articulation 
of a Mori are difficult to catch, but almost every man 
of taste can introduce these extra turns and graces. I 
have heard Barton (the most graceful bowhand I ever 
saw) run on a mile before his band, and come back 
again with perfect sangfroid. You will perhaps here 
enquire, how my memory can be so retentive of all 
these minutiae? If you ask me to philosophically 
account for it, I own I cannot do it. I can only say 
that the smallest defect, or the smallest beauty, in 
either acting or music, is indelibly impressed on my 
memory. And yet, there are hours when I would fain 
have a shorter and more oblivious memory. Mo¬ 
ments at times come blightingly across me, 

“ The weight of which 1 would fling aside for ever /” 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 155 

trick is had recourse to, that I only wonder at the 
prolific invention which could have got up such a 
“ charming' variety.” I may as well class this 
with another drama of buffoonery and nonsense, 
designated under the title of “ Animal Magne¬ 
tism.” I suppose the authors of those pieces will 
get very angry and highly wrathful, if I denounce 
them as ridiculous and absurd. The press is open 
to them to confute me if they wish, but I must 
very broadly declare that the characters and the 
scenes in them have never been paralleled in 
nature. There is no person of taste that would 
not be offended at the buffoonery of the one and 
the insanity of the other. There is however one 
redeeming character in this last afterpiece—Sir 
Mark Chase. I may meet a hundred such cha¬ 
racters as this in the world ; but were I to meet a 
Highflyer in any respectable drawing-room I 
should instantly get up into some corner of the 
room, lest he should do detriment to my body 
corporate. Maria Darlington also comes in with 
a great white thing flying and flapping about her 
ears, and crowned with flowers unwreathed through 
her auburn locks, (I suppose to set off her pretty 
eyes,) and she forthwith doth chaunt a song to 
her “ dearly beloved,” and sings, and waltzes, 
and whirls him about like a top —he (the said 



156 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

Highflyer) having ordered the mad servant (that 
he may talk lovingly and alone to his elect) to take 
off poor quiet Selborne out of the way, on his back, 
without the consent of the said Selborne “ being 
first had and obtained.” Well, my Lord, after 
she waltzes (and I almost forgive the piece for the 
sake of the grace with which she does it) she 
enpierceth the heart of the insane and inconstant 
Highflyer, with the whirling of her legs, and the 
sweetness of her song—the metre of which said 
song by the by is anapaestic, and the writer has 
thought proper to make it bad heroic in one of 
the lines. The song being ended, he thereupon 
doth most pathetically exclaim. “ How divine she 
valtzes /” and in a trice they swing* into each 
other’s arms, and make up the amantium irw, in 
“ a long embrace,” though Mistress Maria Dar¬ 
lington had told the whole host of critics and 
Gods, in the first act, that she “ never would 
speak to him more!”—“Thus, my Lord, ends 
this eventful story;” and I have nothing further 
to add, except that this insane afterpiece was 
acted every week during the engagement of the 

* I regret I cannot claim this word as original. 1 
have taken it from a graceful monosyllable called 
“ swang” in the “ Hebrew Family”—a piece of 
brilliant wit and mellifluous music ! 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 157 

aforesaid deponent, Maria Darlington, and (will 
you believe it my lord, ?) the first comedy that 
ever was written, “ The School for Scandal,’ 5 was 
acted during that time—once! so much for the 
taste of the present day ; nor do I believe Lord 
Byron was incorrect when he said that “ the taste 
of the present day was false and declining.” (I 
would his pen were still awake to lash away its 
follies and foibles !) 

He would depict infinitely better than I could, 
that class of persons whom I have so repeatedly 
called Would-be's through my letter. You, my 
Lord, who live in the upper regions of fashion, 
politics, and literature, have never met a would-be 
poet or actor. Suffer me, then, to take the pencil 
and pallet and trick him out for you. First, for 
the would-be poet. 

He is exactly forty-two years of age—for he has 
been all that time endeavouring to bring forth 
something in the literary world, and has never 
been able to get beyond a neat sonnet in a maga¬ 
zine—a pretty charade in a newspaper—or a love 
sick stanza in a Sunday paper. If your Lordship 
will open the door of his room, you will find him 
sitting at an old-fashioned mahogany table, one 
hand supporting his brow, the other with the pen 
in it, not writing, for he is at a dead stop, cogi - 


158 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

tating some divine thought. It is midnight, and 
the candle is almost burned down, and is just ex¬ 
piring, giving out its last speech and dying words 
—which he is almost totally unconscious of, so 
wrapped up is he in the divine cogitation . The fire 
has been out two hours ago, and a small kitten 
(his child's plaything) is reclining on the flowered 
rug, which his wife has worked to ornament the 
fire-place. She— a pretty looking little body, (for 
poets, my lord, are amorous, and must fain have 
handsome wives,) she is in bed, and is calling out 
to the poor devil to come to her, from the inside 
bed-room ; the door of which is left half open that 
she may have an eye on him, lest in his lucubra¬ 
tions he may set both himself and the house on 
fire. But alas! he heeds not—hears not her re¬ 
peated calls, for—he is completely up in the 
clouds. His coat and waistcoat are open—his 
feet slip-shod, one foot out of the slipper—his chin 
has a three day’s beard on it—his hands are un¬ 
washed—and the middle finger of his right hand 
is in complete mourning for its heavy duty, as it is 
covered all over with ink. His room is in a 
glorious upper story of the house, some sixty feet 
from the ground, and its furniture consists of a 
dining-table, a reading-table, with his desk on it, 
(which neither wife not child dare touch,) half 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 159 

a dozen of chairs, and one shelf of books, in the 
midst of which stands prominent and conspicuous 
a volume (and only one volume) of his own pre¬ 
cious and dearly beloved poems “ beautifully 
printed by Davison on royal octavo/’ 

Two visiting-cards are on the chimney-piece— 
one of them from a young gentleman fond of the 
theatre and its fair Cyprians, and who would fain 
be looking after his pretty wife—for the purpose 
of philosophically minding her ; as he (the afore¬ 
said would-be) seemeth to be fonder of his incon¬ 
stant muse, than of his own “ lawful wedded 
wife.” His watch is lying on the table—stopped. 
That part of the table which surrounds his writ¬ 
ing-desk, is furnished with two unfinished essays ; 
one, “ an attempt to find out the longitude,” the 
other <€ an essay on the precise time of finding 
out the resurrection.” He has his brow still 
leaning on his hand, and if you will look closely 
at his countenance, you will find that there is 
neither talent, animation, or expression in it. To 
complete the picture, the moon is struggling 
through a dark and rainy cloud, and is pouring 
her dim rays in through the window, one pane of 
which has been broken by an urchin, the youngest 
son of the shop-keeper who lives below, and who 


160 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

flung an envious stone at him while he was 
“ finding out the longitude.” The picture is now 
completed. Will it do, think you, my lord, to 
send to “ The exhibition?” And now for the 
would-be actor. 

Come forth—come forth ! thou thing of Shake¬ 
speare, ranting, study, and idleness. Come forth 
thou man whom everybody sees, and nobody ad¬ 
mires. Thou who triest to please every body, and 
yet pleasest nobody. There, thou art walking up 
Bond Street, with the neatest stock, the neatest 
coat, the neatest summer waistcoat, and the 
brightest Day and Martin ” on thy shoes. 
Switch or whip in thy hand (thou conshumate # 
rogue, though thou hast never crossed a horse) 
spur, perhaps, on thy heel, though thou never 
hast used it—glove dangling in thy hand—a neat 
coloured kid glove en dishabille —thy hat balanced 
exquisitely on three hairs, and a smicky smacky, 
lack-a-daysical “ how d’do” on thy pretty lips 
(the Lord love it!) with a super-exquisite bow 
bestowed on the first Cyprian that thou meet- 
est. Yes— there, thou art hastening down to 
the comer of the street to look for “ gape-seed ” 


* Anglice, consummate . 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 161 

both ways ; just let loose from either thy school 
of study, or let out from the drawing-room of a 
third-rate Cyprian. # 

Not political enough for a dub-room, and too 
full of mannerism for the saloon of fashion, thou 
paradest in the streets, gaping—gaping—gaping 
at men, coaches, shops, prints of actors, mousetraps 
and other sweet-meats. Thy height is just five 
feet eight. This is the true regulation would-be 
height —“ taken by permission of the manager 
from the prompt book”—and thou art leaning 
perchance on a dearly beloved brother would-be , 
or else walking solus and sentimental with thy 
switch or thy whip, twirling in all the neat and 
pretty convolutions of a fragrant and essenced 
amateur. The Lord love thee! ’twere pity to 
let “ the wind of heaven visit thy nobility too 
roughly/’ 

Thou thinkest (so exquisite is thy taste) that 
“ Pizzaro ” is the finest play that ever was written; 
and its ranting hero, is the very “ god of thy ido- 

* This description was taken from life, from a win¬ 
dow of Trinity College, Dublin, some months ago. It 
is a south-west view of a front elevation in the florid 
Gothic style . 


M 


162 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

latry.” Thou dolest out shreds of Shakespeare, 5 * 
and will tell jokes of Joe Miller, “ until the ear is 
pained.” Music thou knowest nought of, or if thou 
dost hammer any of it into thy skull, it is—“ a 
little on the flute .”f Politics and religion thou 
despisest—the first being too deep, and the second 
“ quite too much of a good thing” for thee . 
Ranting in never-fading glory on the stage is thy 
hobby ; and to rant in ever- fading glory shall be 
thy lot to the end of the chapter. In short—“ Thou 
art a great man in thy own little pewter-pot way”\ 
But—to kill thee completely dead entirely; let 
some wag inform thee, “ that an actor of emi¬ 
nence last night made his appearance, and was 
received with ‘ thunders of applause ’ by the entire 
house.” 

“ He dies, dead! dead!! dead !!! ” 

Then—-then, thou art all bustle, all confusion, 

* I was one day in company with one of these 
bipeds, and I do not exaggerate when I say that to 
every period he tacked a shred of Shakespeare. 

f The invariable and indivisible answer of young 
men when asked “ What instrument they play on ?” 

I This capital expression is not my own. I believe 
it is to be traced to one of the Secretary of State’s 
officers. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 163 

all spleen.* Then flies about the all-important 
question, “ Who is he—what is he—whence is 
he ?—Does he do my part, says one—does he do 
my part, says another—does he do my part, says 
a third ? I wish he was in Kamschatka, says A.— 

I wish the d-1 had him, says B.—I wish he 

were in a horse-pond, says C.—I could eat him up 
with some salt, says D.—Let us give him a duck¬ 
ing, says E.—Let us put him in the papers, says F. 
—Let us get him into a broil and send him to 
New Holland, says G.—But let us see the rara avis , 
says H.—What kind of an eye has he—how high 
is his nose —has he a handsome figure—how does 
he stand with the big wigs—how with fashionable 
life—is he clever, if so we’re undone—is he a 
satirist, if that direful character, we’re blown to 

* “ No people are so open to envy and jealousy as 
theatrical people. A man of cleverness is sure to be¬ 
come a professed enemy to the lower orders of them.” 
— Vide Life of Garrick . 

I was informed by a gentlemen well conversant with 
London and its theatres, that when Kean first came 
out, so anxious were those who dreaded his rising po¬ 
pularity to get a glimpse of him, that the streets were 
crowded every day with secondary actors, to look at 
the “ wonderful man.” Envy and jealousy are cer¬ 
tainly despicable p assions. 

m 2 




164 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 


the d——1—-is he a man of wit—oh worse and 
worse ! What is to be done V’ Thus runs on the 
dialogue—thus runs the important dispute, until 
at length it is “ Resolved unanimously,” that a 
man of talent being a thing unknown among them, 
he is to be voted as an excessive bore, as it would 
afford a bad precedent to either encourage him, or 
allow him to mix in the company of their high 
mightinesses—said resolution being totally at va¬ 
riance with the feelings of a great and leading 
actor, who is ever glad to make himself the com¬ 
panion of the man of talent and cleverness. 

I have now, my lord, drawn the picture—drawn 
it from life; but as there happens to be more— 
infinitely more than one of these creatures in this 
ungrateful world, which does not properly appre¬ 
ciate their abilities ; I shall merely hang the pic¬ 
ture up to the public through my bookseller, and 
shall with all the politeness in the world, request 
of any one who finds it to be a likeness, to pur¬ 
chase it; which, I make no doubt, will be per¬ 
fectly gratifying to the said bookseller. 

Your Lordship will no doubt now ask me to 
depict for you the would-be musician, and the 
would-be painter, as companions to the other two, 
thus making a neat quartett. Another time, my 
lord, another time. It is bad to crowd an exhibi- 




ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 165 

tion too much. Your Lordship, however, engaged 
the drawings from me long ago, and, permit me to 
assure you, that I shall keep my word; not for¬ 
getting my friends the thunderers in banco; re¬ 
questing of the aforesaid “ knot of gentlemen ” 
to get exceedingly wrathful and magnificently 
inflated against me, and to either look most direful 
things at me, or to write “ a neat duodecimo ” of 
satire against myself, my pen, and my books; it 
being a happy pastime unto me (forgive my un¬ 
godliness, my lord) to reverse the text, and to 
“ provoke these Ishmaelites unto wrath, and to 
secretly laugh at their inward disquietude and 
vexation of spirit.” 

I think I hear your Lordship saying, “ you 
are going the surest way to make enemies to 
yourself.” Those, my lord, whose esteem I would 
value—those whose friendship I would uncease- 
jngly covet—the favourable opinion of one of 
whom, would weigh more with me, than the ap¬ 
plause of hundreds of others —those persons, my 
lord, (and I feel pleasure in mentioning your lord- 
ship amongst the number) will never, have never 
turned against me; and, believe me, my lord, 
that I am reckless and stubborn enough to forgive 
and laugh at the worst clamour that could be raised 
against me, were it got up by those who have 


166 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

merely talent enough to keep them struggling for 
life in the ignoble class of “ mediocrity.” But let 
me turn to something more agreeable. Let me 
reverse the picture. If we have would-be s y we 
have also men of talent, and there is no one who 
has seen the splendid and magnificent acting of 
Kean in “ Richard the Third/’ that does not bow 
to the superior judgment and spirited conception 
with which he has embodied this most daring 
portrait of Shakespeare. I know nothing in act¬ 
ing beyond his personation of this character; and 
I never can believe that any actor from the time 
of Garrick, has ever exceeded him in his eloquent 
and masterly delineation of it. I shall go farther 
than this ; I fearlessly say, that Kean never will 
be exceeded either in the conception or the acting 
of the “ crook-backed tyrant.” I must not omit 
to draw a distinction here between the conception 
and the acting of a character. A person may con¬ 
ceive a character very well, and yet not be able to 
execute it, (witness the critics in the pit,) but the 
opposite of this does not follow; for, if a person 
acts a character correctly, he must conceive it cor¬ 
rectly. The conception , therefore, and the acting 
of a character are different, and in both of these 
Kean has eminently succeeded. There is yet 
another reason, too, why he performs “ Richard ” 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 167 

so inimitably well. He looks the character. It is 
impossible for an actor to completely perform any 
character, unless he acts, looks, and dresses it. 
Kean does all these. He is completely cut out for 
the performance of this character. Look at the 
man and say if you were seeking for a “ Richard,” 
where could be found so inimitable and perfect a 
representation. Mark his dark and fiery eye that 
at times flashes very lightning—his rapid and 
violent bursts of passion—his bold and haughty 
countenance—his hurried step—his stern and 
lowering brow—his very voice even is Richard's, 
and it totally wants the soft and suasive tones 
which could suit “ the dalliance of gentle lover.” 
I know nothing finer than the speech which he 
delivers on his first entrance, his “ good night,” 
and the entire of the last act. It has been said 
that the way the late Mr. Kemble came in first on 
the stage was the proper conception of this part-— 
slow and measured. There cannot be a doubt, 
but that hurry mixed with restrained rejoicing 
should be the accompaniments of this part, joined, 
in the latter part of the speech to cold and plotting 
calculation. This is Kean’s conception. This is 
the true one. It is impossible that the late Mr. 
Kemble could have done this character so com¬ 
pletely well as Kean. The reason of it is, he 



168 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

could not look the character so well as the latter. 
I lay a great stress on the looking of a character. 
Imagine Mr. Kean’s performing “ Coriolanus,” 
and then the importance of it will be seen. Or 
imagine the figure that would suit “ Romeo” 
performing <c Falstaff.”^ This would appear 
egregious. Until, therefore, I see an actor who 
can look and act 66 Richard,” I cannot help think¬ 
ing Kean to be the best personifier of it. I take 
him, in a word, to be the Richard of Shakespeare. 
His “ Sir Giles Overreach,” is also another most 
vigorous performance ; the last act of which is 
totally beyond the power of any actor of the pre¬ 
sent day. The third act of his “ Othello ” is also 
inimitably fine ; but he does not so completely 
look this character as he does the other two. This 
actor possesses another most essential requisite to 
a performer—the power of performing extremes. 
Sir Giles Overreach and Abel Drugger, and 
Richard the Third and Silvester Daggerwood are 
opposites, and yet I believe there is no actor of the 
present day who could unite them. There is also 
another reason why I look on this actor as possess- 

* It is no impugnment of what I advance, to say 
that Mr. C. Kemble performs both Romeo and Falstaff. 
I affirm that he does not look the character, though 
he may act it. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 169 

ing true talent (that rare gem) and it is this—he 
burst on the town at once. He was not years 
creeping up tne hill of fame, and the critic who 
saw him on the first night that he made his ap¬ 
pearance to a most miserable house at Drury Lane, 
could at once (if he possessed any insight) have 
augured well of his future popularity. True talent 
is seldom long in arriving at perfection. Even in 
its first dawning “ the soul that is within” can be 
be seen; and I am not aware that I ever heard 
of an instance of true talent taking any great 
length of time to place itself among the foremost. 
In proof of this, I might adduce many instances, 
which I dare say the reader is as equally conver¬ 
sant with. I rather think, then, that I express 
the opinion of our best critics, when I pronounce 
him the first tragedian of the day. In giving him 
this distinction, however, I must remark that the 
approbation has to be qualified. I have seen him 
play a part where he failed most completely. I 
allude to Hamlet. Hamlet was not made for him, 
nor was he made for Hamlet. It was therefore 
bad ambition which tempted him to personate the 
part. If the reader will turn to page 29 he will 
there find those requisites enumerated which an 
actor must possess to completely perform this part. 
If an actor does not possess them all, I cannot help 


170 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

again repeating that he cannot perform this diffi¬ 
cult character. 

Young.—I could wish that all actors were ever 
like this performer. He is not only the popular 
actor on the stage, but is the gentleman (no com¬ 
mon character) in private life. Were I to enter 
into the very strict rules of criticism, I should 
perhaps not be unwilling to observe, that the pub¬ 
lic have not a right to inquire into the private life 
of a public character. I must, however, on the 
other hand, observe, that amiability in private life 
adds a lustre and enhances the value of public— 
that the man is often coupled with the performer; 
and that, however great the talents of a public 
character may be, they are infinitely more set off 
if his private life sustains the character of the 
gentleman. Who is it does not feel greater plea¬ 
sure in associating with such gentlemanly charac¬ 
ters as Mr. Peel or Mr. Canning, than in mixing 
with those who have only talents, and possess not 
integrity? It will here be told me, that youth 
must have its faults. 1 am willing (who would 
not be so?) to make allowances for youth; but I 
never grant the same indulgence to manhood . I 
therefore look with pleasure at this performer 
whenever I see him; and in the outset of my re¬ 
marks, I at once say, that I never heard declama - 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 17J 

tion (I mean declamation on the stage # ) until I 
heard Mr. Young. It is true, I have seen this 
performer but once or twice; but then an actor once 
seen, his style is (in my mind) seen for ever, f No¬ 
thing but the amazing versatility of a Garrick 
(unapproachable in these days) can make him alter 
or depart from that style, which the first scene of 
his first act will at once develope to a quick eye. 
When about to deliver a round and set speech, or 
any striking though transient touch of poetry, 
Mr. Young’s delivery and action (both most dis¬ 
tinct things) are both fine and expressive, and 
there is also a grace and an ease about him, which 
in this particular, I have seen with no other actor. 
I fear his voice is not quite so good as what a 
musical ear could wish. I am informed there is a 
natural defect in it, which, though it may not be 
perceptible in his tragic characters, (I observed it 
in his “ Joseph Surface/') yet cannot but prevent 
that fine full and round tone of voice, which is an 
essential requisite for the stage. I know scarcely 

* In Parliament, the best debater is Mr. Brougham 
—the best declaimer , Mr. Peel—the best sophist , 
Mr. Plunkett—and the most brilliant orator is Mr. 
Canning. 

f I have seen him in the part of “ Foster/' but it 
is a mere plaything in his hands. 


172 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

any thing, either in private or public life, so pre¬ 
possessing as a good voice. The voice and manner 
of speaking is the very surest criterion of the 
gentleman, and I never was deceived in this me¬ 
thod of judging yet. If then it is important in 
private, how indispensable is it in public life. The 
finest action—the best choice of words in an orator, 
would disgust me, were I to hear an unmusical 
voice; and the most beautiful face that ever glit¬ 
tered in a drawing-room could never attract me, 
did I not perceive the gentlewoman (for it is dis¬ 
cernible at once) in her voice and manner of 
speaking. The voice is the grand medium of ex¬ 
pression. It goes beyond the eye or the hand, 
nor can the finest set of features in the world de¬ 
clare any thing, unless this indispensable adjunct 
is present. I express that finished tone of voice 
which I allude to, by saying, that it should be in 
speaking what Braham’s voice is in singing —rich, 
round, mellow, and musical. It is impossible 
that characters, where tenderness and feeling are to 
be expressed, can be adequately performed unless 
this kind of voice is possessed by the person who 
would personate. He may act—perhaps act the 
character far above mediocrity; but I must repeat, 
that he cannot describe those tender and impas¬ 
sioned touches—cannot paint and indelibly fix on 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 173 

the heart these eloquent, soft, and suasive turns 
and tones of nature, which a vivid poetical pen 
may write down for him. It is the most powerful 
engine I know of in the hands of a man of talent. 
By it the statesman addresses the senate and wins 
over the votes of those who were before even his 
enemies. With this suasive organ the courtier 
gains admittance to royalty and moulds the minds 
of the glittering throngs that surround him. It is 
this which, when poured from the lips of a grace¬ 
ful and finished orator, melts the heart, wins un¬ 
seen, unknown, its insinuating way, and then 
either brings forth the tear on the trembling eye ; 
or else calls forth the smile on the dimpling cheek. 
It is this with which the lover pleads to the ear of 
beauty, and tells his vows and his constancy, 
making them even more grateful and delightful to 
her, when thus sung in sweetness. The voice 
then is the key which unlocks the heart and lets out 
all its hidden and tender feelings. The heart 
cannot speak unless the voice has music and mu¬ 
sical eloquence in all its tones. Most justly is it 
observed by Madame Roland, “ that the charms 
of the voice possess a powerful influence over the 
senses; and that this charm does not merely be¬ 
long to the mind, but results still more from that 


174 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

delicacy of sentiment which varies the expression 
and modulates the accent ” 

I perfectly coincide in this remark; but I ex¬ 
press my regret at not being able to discover this 
kind of voice in any actor of the present day. # I 
therefore found the want of it in Mr. Young, more 
particularly in a passage which I have not room 
here to extract; but I am not aware that the lisp 
in his voice was the slightest harm in his “ Joseph 
Surface,” while at the same time such a fault 
would ruin the acting of his open-hearted and 
generous brother, Charles. There was also an 
inimitable shuffle (if I may use the word) in his 
“ Joseph,” which he managed some way .with his 

* There are some tones in Miss F. Kelly’s voice, 
which remind me of the kind of voice above alluded 
to. There was also one sentence pronounced by Miss 
Foote, (in a popular comedy,) which was given with 
eloquent sweetness, and I almost yet hear the music 
of it—“ Will he not tell me where my heart lies buried ?” 
The sweet voice which spoke this should not be de¬ 
stroyed by verging into (what it often does) a sharp 
key. There are also some magnificent tones on the 
lower notes of Mr. Irving’s (the preacher’s) voice. The 
most perfect voice is that which possesses such exten¬ 
siveness of compass and modulation, as to unite in it 
fineness and sweetness . The present speaker’s voice is 
also a fine and impressive one, and fills the senate house. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 175 

legs and arms, that gave infinite effect to the 
character. And yet in his interview with Lady 
Teazle, he appeared to me to want insinuation, 
both in voice and manner. But this is just as 
rare a thing on the stage as it is in private life. 
There is also another excellence in Mr. Young's 
acting. He never rants. I have never seen him 
“ tear a passion to tatters.” Ranting is not na¬ 
ture. Ranting belongs to the vile school of study, 
and is looked upon as a most important requisite 
by its disciples. And yet to know where to make 
passion stop , and where to make it begin , is a 
difficult thing, and here is an instance where 
judgment must be particularly called to aid. 
Often have I been obliged to stop my ears and 
shut my eyes, to avoid booking at or hearing 
“ a periwig-pated fellow,” bellowing and roaring, 
c< to split the ears of the groundlings.” And I 
have again heard parts pronounced perfectly tame 
which ought to be vigorous and impassioned. 
Rules cannot be drawn. Genius, and genius alone 
must direct the actor. That kind of versatility 
which can perform tragedy equally well with 
comedy—which can glide into extremes, and play 
them with ease and unembarrassment, and which 
has the power of completely wielding the passions 
of audience, in leading characters in both lines— 


176 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

this kind of versatility (one of the actor’s rarest 
gifts) is wanting in Mr. Young. # 

C. Kemble. —The versatility, above alluded to, 
seems to be possessed more by this actor than any 
other leading performer I know of. There is yet 
another perfection which he has—a perfection the 
most fascinating that a comic actor can be gifted 
with. He possesses, and he alone on the Eng¬ 
lish stage, that which Junius elegantly terms 
“ the graceful levity of youth.” I have frequently 
seen levity, but I never saw graceful levity till I 
saw Mr. Kemble. This must be a gift . It never 
can be acquired. Here is the reason why it is so 
seldom met with. There are also a multiplicity 
of adjuncts belonging to it, and unless they are 
all combined, the quality is defective. I here 
again have to express my regret, respecting the 
want of that finished and musical voice, which I 
have already spoken of. But it is almost unrea- 

* I am informed that the “ Hamlet” of Mr. Young 
is a finished performance. I never saw the character 
but once, and then it was done so “ lamely and un- 
fashionably, (though by a leading actor,) that I vow^- 
ed a vow” unto the goddess Melpomene never to go 
look at it again. I fear I shall prove perjurer, should 
Mr. Y. perform the character. To see Hamlet well 
performed would indeed be a treat. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 177 

sonable to expect so many perfections in one man. 
I know nothing in comedy more correct—more 
classical (and to be correct and classical is indeed 
difficult) than the “ Young Mirabel” of Charles 
Kemble. Had he the voice Ispoke of, (and, if 
not too fastidious, a little more gracefulness of 
figure,) he would be the Mirabel of the play. The 
conception and the acting of it are eminently cor¬ 
rect. His “ Charles Surface” is also another de¬ 
lightful performance. He possesses the qualities 
for those characters which I really thought had 
died with Garrick; nor is there another person on 
the English stage that could successfully perform 
either of them. It therefore seems to me extremely 
odd that he does not completely succeed in doing 
“ Doricourt.” This, I do not know that I can 
readily account for. Doricourt was sketched by 
the pen of a woman. She was in love perhaps 
with a character that she never saw in real life; 
and in endeavouring to make it the beau ideal , 
she failed. Now r Charles and Mirabel were drawn 
by the vigorous hands of those masters, Sheridan 
and Farquhar. They are characters you can often 
meet with in polished society, and there are many 
points in them which the less brilliant and less 
prominent character of Doricourt wants. Mirabel 
was drawn by the author from the author. We 


N 


178 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

are informed that he was in private life what Mira¬ 
bel is on the stage. There are also a hundred 
such characters as Charles to be met with in high 
society in Ireland, to which place both these bril¬ 
liant portraits exclusively belong; and I here am 
led to the remark, that the men from that country 
have written our best and wittiest comedies. The 
farther, therefore, a character is removed from real 
life, the more difficult is it to act; and there is no 
writer of genius who will attempt to draw any 
thing but real life. “ When characters and events 
(says the Quarterly Review, most justly) are re¬ 
moved from those we meet with in real life, we 
take no interest in them.” 

I can scarcely define in writing that kind of 
acting necessary in Doricourt, which would make 
the character appear finished. It requires ex¬ 
cessive grace and suavity of manner, with (as he 
says himself) “ that something, that nothing, 
which every one feels, but nobody can describe.’’ 
Doricourt # wants the brilliant wit of Charles and 
Mirabel; and very great judgment should be re¬ 
quired in its personation. 

* Would the Doricourts of the present day oblige 
me by informing me, why they pronounce the English 
word “ Medicean,” like the Italian MedicAean? 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 197 

The word elegant should be seldom applied to 
any thing that does not most justly deserve it. I 
heard a most acute observer once say that it 
should only be applied to women. For once, how¬ 
ever, I depart from the rule he so strictly laid 
down, and, applying it to the other sex, say, that 
Mr. Kemble is the most elegant performer on 
the English stage. This line, therefore, designates 
his style, and 'tis needless to write more, with the 
exception of again expressing my regret respecting 
his voice, and the want of that magic charm which 
youth throws around its characters. 

Macready. This is the only rival which that 
powerful performer Mr. Kean has to contend with. 
There is no other person can mate him in the 
hurried bursts of passion, and the vivid touches of 
energy, which mark so much the materiel of the 
acting of Kean. There are some tones of his 
voice which have infinitely more of insinuation in 
them than Kean's. His figure is also more grace¬ 
ful, but it is because he has this gracefulness of 
figure, (as well as a want of fire in the countenance,) 
that I think he does not do “ Richard" so com¬ 
pletely well as his rival. Passion—vivid touches 
of passion, embodied in the character of some war¬ 
like hero, constitute the forte of this actor. This 
is his style. The person who drew “ Virginius" 

n 2 


180 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

and “ Mirandola” for him knew the extent of his 
powers; and the former character would sit more 
easily on him than “ Caius Gracchus.” I have 
seen no one imitate him, nor do I suppose that he 
would imitate any one. In one respect, there is 
a similarity in the acting of him and Kean; but 
it is easy to perceive that he possesses talent 
enough to “ mark out his path,” and act boldly 
from his own genius. With respect to taste and 
judgment, he possesses more of the latter than of 
the former, and as he is a tragic actor, the re¬ 
quisite is more useful to him. I am positive he 
gave some hints to the author of “ Mirandola,” 
as to those passages where his acting could be 
made effective—could be made into his own style . 
In “ Virginias” and “ Caius Gracchus,” the traces 
are plainly perceived. There are more striking 
touches of nature in the first, than in the two last 
tragedies; but there is no dramatic writer of the 
present day, possesses such nerve or such tender¬ 
ness (two most distinct, but most essential qua¬ 
lities in the dramatist) as the professor of poetry 
for Oxford—Millman. A character drawn by such 
a master as that for Macready, would indeed be 
worth going to see. 

As I am on the subject, I cannot help remarking, 
that the newspapers and magazines (I except the 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 181 

reviews,) who blame authors for drawing cha¬ 
racters for particular actors, evince a very great 
want of knowledge of the world. If they can 
prove to me that Sheridan had no actor in his eye 
when he wrote the first comedy of the age, I give 
up the point: or if they can prove to me, that a 
drama written even by Sir Walter Scott, which 
had no character in it that would suit any actor 
in the theatre, would yet be accepted; I also 
shall grant this argument. How is it to be ex¬ 
pected that an actor can do justice to a character 
unless there is something in it that suits his style ? 
It is unfair to throw harness (however gilded the 
trappings may be) on the steed, unless it fits him. 
Fit him, and he puts forth his strength. I there¬ 
fore call it the summit of affectation and nonsense 
to say, that no dramatic writer should have any 
leading actor or actress in his eye, when he is 
writing. If he has not, it is impossible that justice 
can be done to his plays; nor can I help thinking 
that it shows a want of talent in the author, not to 
be able to adapt himself to the different styles. In 
this respect, tragedy is more successful in the pre¬ 
sent day than comedy. Thalia is dead. 

It is useless to write further on this actor. If 
he did not possess leading abilities, he could not 
be the rival of Kean; and I believe his private 


182 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

character is as correct as his public character is 
popular. 

Jones. Away, dull tragedy ! Enter Richard 
Jones. Enter thou merriest of all merry crickets 
and make me laugh. There thou art, slipping in 
on the stage with thy slim-slam—slide along— 
dash along entry — thy neat figure — thy slim 
turned ankle—thy Opera-hat, twitched under thy 
arm—spy-glass to thy eye—bunch of roses in thy 
coat—and a “ How d’do, demme, Sir ” twittering 
on thy funny lips. Make room, make room for 
him ye would-be’s; and let him hop, and frisk, 
and dance about, for there are springs in his 
ankles, elastic belts round his body, double refined 
grasshopper springs in his arms, and some half 
dozen quarto volumes of fun (edited by himself 
and with glossarial notes) on his tongue. 

Yes ; make room all manner of would-be’s, male 
and female; for all your humour is flung at an 
extra distance up in the back - ground scenery, 
when this favourite of Thalia glides in and mingles 
with ye. Either the dull mope, or the lively 
beau—the pretty love-sick swain, or the mad and 
tear-away “ Highflyer”—all are perfect and cor¬ 
rect in thy hands. Thy style is thy own . Thou 
hast no match, or if thou hast, I will back thee for 
one thousand five hundred and fifty-five—kisses 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 183 

from Thalia, that thou, t€ her loving son,” dost 
win the stakes that may be set down for thee to 
play. 

And now as thou hast slipped in on the stage, 
stand steady for a moment, and let me view and 
review thee ? How am I to begin ? I shall begin 
by ending; for thou art too good-humoured to 
criticize, and too popular to require praise. So, 
bon-jour, merry one. # 

Farren. Farren the inimitable! I scarcely 
know any comic actor on the stage, that gives 
such force and truth of colouring to his portraits 
as this performer.+ I have seen him in a variety 
of characters, and I have never yet seen him make 
a blunder. Here is an instance of unstudied and 
correct acting. The man does all his characters, 
not as if he came to show himself off on a raised 
platform like a wild beast, and had been paid a 
handsome salary by his employer to start, and 
smirk, and laugh, and wriggle about. He acts as 

* 1 am informed that we are indebted to this actor 
for the introduction of the only comedy that has ap¬ 
peared these some years. I am further informed he 
has introduced more than one performer of merit to 
Covent Garden. If Thalia is dead, he must be sorry. 

t “ This is to give public nottis that there are two 
Mr. Farren's. 


184 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

if he was not acting before an audience, but as if 
he was speaking to his friends, and amusing them 
with his humour and his wit; and this, (I care 
not what the would-he’s say,) this is the true style 
of comic acting. I know this is most startling 
doctrine in the present day, but I am “ stiff¬ 
necked” enough to maintain it; and if any one 
avers to the contrary, I shall be happy to meet 
the argument—“ always made and provided ” 
that the said reply shall be worth answering. 
There are two peculiarities in Farren; first, though 
a young man, it is old, crabbed characters he does 
best! —second—with all his grimaces, he has no 
grimace. His countenance is moulded,, not by 
grimace, but by humour and passion; and ex¬ 
actly as these are to be pourtrayed, so does his 
countenance indicate the within feelings. The 
moment an author resorts to stage trick # for si¬ 
tuation —to puns for wit , or is obliged to ask the 
pencil of the painter to help the efforts of his poor 
pen, he at once evinces that the mind and the 

* The after-pieces of the present day are actually 
saturated with this “ villainous stuff.” I wish both 
authors and actors would read and attend to the cri¬ 
ticisms in i( The Times.” I never find slip-slop in “ The 
Times.” “ John Bull” might also be read as a com 
mentary to it. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 185 

talent are not within. The moment an actor 
resorts to grimace for expression, to study for 
nature , or to by-play for acting, he also evinces 
that the mind and the talent are not within. I 
have never seen this truly humoursome performer 
resort to those subterfuges. If the persons w T ho 
drew “ Sir Peter Teazle” and “ Lord Ogleby” were 
alive, (alas! they are gone,) how delighted would 
they be to employ a leisure hour in sketching a 
character for one w r ho would do it so much justice. 
Quaint and pristine humour—a touch of antique 
amativeness —with a gentlemanly bearing, and a 
most happy and original drollery, designate the 
style of this leading performer. 

Fawcett. Were I disposed to criticize this 
performer, I shall confess that there is a some¬ 
thing in the countenance and manner of the gay 
old veteran which disarms me. I therefore refer 
the reader (to prevent tautology) to what I have 
already said of him. His “ Copp” is a more 
natural piece of acting than that of any performer 
in the play with the exception of “ Mary” by the 
all interesting Miss Tree. 

Liston. The style of this performer is the 
most original of the present day. He has no 
imitators, for he cannot be imitated.* 

* His “ Mawworm” never was, and never will be 
exceeded. 


186 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

Cooper. The “ Bromley of Mr. Cooper 
is a very capital performance, and is an instance 
of correct and natural acting. Perhaps I could 
scarcely praise him more, for nothing but talent 
can personate nature —for—it is nature which 
gives talent. I heard two very valiant would-be's 
say that there was no acting in “ Mr. Bromley.” 
As it is best to take no notice of fools, I at once 
agreed with them. This gentleman possesses one 
of the finest voices on the stage. I however can 
perceive that it wants suavity— I mean that kind 
of soft and sweet tone which would be necessary 
to perform some of the leading passages in 
“ Romeo.f” He has a handsome but not an ex- 

* Vide “ Simpson and Co.”—the first farce of the 
day, and worth a score of “ Animal Magnetisms 
“ Rolands for Olivers”—“ All Mistakes ”—et hoc 
genus omne .” The spouse too of Mr. Bromley is a 
most happy performance by Miss Chester. I doubt if 
I have ever seen a countenance that possesses such a 
gay mixture of loveliness and good humour as this 
lady’s. In fact, all her features seem lips, and these 
lips in eternal smiles. 

f I have never seen united in one man, all the ^re¬ 
quisites for Romeo. It is the most difficult of Shakes¬ 
peare’s sentimental characters to perform; and I 
almost despair of seeing it done. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 187 

pressive countenance. He is an extremely even 
performer, and never bores you to death by mak¬ 
ing overstrained flights at sublimity. The words 
smooth genteel designate his style. 

I saw him perform “ Doricourt,” but I men¬ 
tion the character not for the purpose of criti¬ 
cizing him, but for the purpose of passing remarks 
on the comedy to which it belongs. 

It has been mentioned then, my Lord, to me, 

(and by no less a critic than your friend Mr.-) 

that the plot of this comedy is not natural. Now, 
my Lord, as “ Letitia Hardy/’ the said contriver 
of the plot, happens to be a favourite with me, 
and I think the comedy a good one; I shall en¬ 
deavour to reply to the remark of “ my learned 
friend.” He said then, “ that no woman would 
make love to man in this opposite —antipode way; 
for if she wanted to get a husband, she would 
have put forth all her charms, et cetera, et cetera, 
et cetera.” 

My Lord, this man, (a redoubtable old bachelor 
be it known unto all female readers who shall 
peruse this work,) I say this man knew nothing 
of women. Opposition as well as curiosity are 
ingredients in the character of women; and 
though I do not say that all possess them; yet, 
at the same time, I must not admit that all do not. 



188 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

This aforesaid favourite of mine (plaintiff) then 
wants to convince the defendant, Mr. Doricourt, 
that she is not in love with him, by assuming that 
air and manner which she knew his elegance 
hated ; while at the same time she is actually 
dying for the young fellow. She however well 
knew that she could assume the woman of sense 
and elegance when she chose, and being well 
aware that the pleasure of the ecclaircissement 
would be doubled when he discovered the school 
girl trick she had played on him, she accordingly 
proceeds in her mawkish manoeuvres, but takes 
care “ to catch his attention” at the ball-room, 
by twirling her feet in sundry and divers convolu¬ 
tions, showing pouting lips and a lovely chin, and 
doing other litttle et ceteras, which all women 
know how to play off when they want to ensnare 
the biped man. She does catch his attention, but 
it is not the mere giddy wish of running her neck 
into the marriage knot that makes her pause at 
this moment, before she discovers herself. She 
tells him that “ this is the most important point 
of her life / 5 (and how true is that remark,) for 
that the simple pulling off her mask makes her 
eternally happy or eternally miserable. This 
proves her the woman of sense, and also proves that 
her plan succeeded, for he cries out “ Rapture!” 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 189 

(no easy word by the by to pronounce,) and rushes 
into her arms; thus at once evincing his joy, and 
appreciating the plot of the woman who had sense 
and art enough to win him by so happy a con¬ 
trivance. 

There is another reason why I think the plot 
natural. Women must have their little tricks and 
their little plots, and if they cannot play them off, 
(more particularly when they are in love,) they 
will actually get stupid and melancholy. Man 
has other things to do besides thinking of such 
frippery; but woman has scarcely any thing to 
engage her attention, besides a book, her needle, 
and all this little petty warfare which takes off 
many a weary hour in the important planning of 
it. # The following is a truth—that marriage is 


* The following is such a neat, pretty little woman¬ 
ish anecdote, that I really must extract it for my neat, 
pretty little womanish readers. I give it exactly in 
the words (but not with half the humour) of the witty 
narrator. 

Some time ago a Scotch lady was on a visit with her 
friends in Ireland, and it so happened that the heir 
apparent of a title was introduced to her while on her 
visit. His manners being completely of the higher 
order of Irish society—frank, open, and gentlemanly, 


190 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 


either the heaven or the grave of love. To woman 
it is every thing. It is her life—“ her being, end, 

she was somewhat taken by surprize by him, not hav¬ 
ing seen any thing exactly similar to the deponent in 
the mountains and rough “ highways and byeways” of 
Scotland. She resolved therefore on carrying off his 
body corporate to Scotland, and surprizing her friends 
by presenting to them a perfect specimen of a polished 
Paddy. She was handsome and accomplished—had 
lots of piano playing, tricks, and cunning about her— 
could manage a horse and her tongue most adroitly, 
and withal looked very saint-like. When once a 
woman determines on doing a thing, Doctor Faustus 
himself would not stop her; so she accordingly com¬ 
menced “ a series of operations both offensive and de¬ 
fensive ” (to speak a la militaire) on the heart of the 
Hibernian, which was to be taken “ vi et armis” 
She was however aware that it was an Irishman whom 
she had to capture, and that though she might easily 
destroy the heart of an Englishman, pin it to her 
apron string, and then make him follow her as she 
listed, yet she well knew that Paddy would redoubt- 
ably and strenuously oppose any such treatment, and 
not allow himself to be dragged, hauled, and bandied 
about in any such uncourtly and unchristian man¬ 
ner. As well did she know, that the Englishman once 
conquered, is in a manner for ever conquered ; but 
that if her Irishman was to be won, he must be con¬ 
quered every day . “ Treasons, stratagems, and 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, SCC. 191 

and aim.” If she gives her heart to one whom 
she thinks will love her, but finds too late that he 

spoils’' therefore were had recourse to, to keep up in 
his mind every day, something of her who wished to 
make him her “ conquered captive.” She had sense 
enough to think that marriage was the most important 
part of a woman’s life, and, with a love which forgot 
all trouble, and which only a woman would put in 
execution , began to throw her chains around the heart 
of the person whom she would only have ; and to aid 
her in this murderous and mischievous design, her 
friends and her family—men servants and maid ser¬ 
vants—brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts— 
saucepans, kettle-drums, masks, candlesticks—horses, 
mares, ponies, asses, and fools were all engaged on 
her side “ to agitate the question.” In short, the 
armament to Walcheren was nothing to the armament 
which this Scotch lassie (I must ask Sir Walter Scott, 
if they are all so cunning?) had fitted out for the 
utter destruction and abolition of the poor Irishman. 
A quarrel, (we have all heard of “ amantium irce ,” 
and when was there a brace of lovers without a spice 
of mock warfare ?) A quarrel was however agreed on 
during the siege, and “ operations” were accordingly 
commenced ; but the lovely girl went to such infinite 
pains and trouble to prove that it was a quarrel, that 
our Paddy was convinced it was not . Infinitely too 
good humoured therefore to do any thing but smile at 
the knickery-knackery, (when was a woman in love 


i 


192 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 

does not; that heart is indeed crushed. I scarcely 
know terms foul enough for the wretch who mar- 

without it ?) he pretended to be seriously aggrieved by 
the proceeding, at the same time secretly resolving (as 
there was no real quarrel in the case) to await the 
issue of the petit comedy, and that then, if her love 
for him was real, she could easily evince it, and that if 
it was not, he had studied her sex infinitely too well, 
and had been far too great a rover, (a national fault 
with poor Paddy, arising, I really believe, from ex¬ 
cessive buoyancy of spirit, and not from badness of 
principle,) to heed the matter. She was frequently 
warned that it was ridiculous for her (on this account) 
to try and regularly catch his heart. She was also 
told that he was young and dissipated—that he was 
fond of spending money, entertaining his friends, kiss¬ 
ing the pretty lips of women, and doing other nefarious 
and unchristian things. But ’twas all in vain : when 
a woman is in earnest in her love, she never will give 
up the person she fixes her affections on; and she 
accordingly very particularly told them all that she 
would have him, and that no one else but her “ bril¬ 
liant Paddy ” (she thus designated him) should ever 
lead her, either to church or to bed. (Well done, 
Scotch lassie.) 

She proved it. Her beauty and her accomplish¬ 
ments imperceptibly wound round him, and they were 
at length married. She afterwards told her husband 
(from whom I have the above) that some of the hap- 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C, 19& 

ries, and then behaves cruel to one whom he has 
sworn to cherish and protect. 

You will tell me, my Lord, I moralize. You 
will perceive it is only for a few lines, besides, if I 
joke on the matter, I should also wish to write 
serious ; so, with the same versatility if you please, 
I shall come back again, and quote unto your 
Lordship “ the first authority” in the land on 
such a subject, videlicet —an old maid. 

I do remember me, my Lord, having been in 
company some fifty years ago with one of these 

piest moments of her life were spent in laying plans, 
plots, and devices for him!! ! 

But jokes apart. I should blame myself were I not 
to own (though I satirize my own sex in the avowal) 
that the love of woman, when once it is fixed on any 
object, is infinitely more pure and constant than that 
of man. Even when the very last hope is gone, she 
still loves on; and frowns, threats, and coldness are 
unable to. quench it. My life is not very long, but the 
observations which I have made on the sex, induce me 
to say, that if woman has her waywardness and her 
fantasies—her little arts and devices; yet she also has 
that which throws them all into shade, and makes up by 
its lovely lustre her other defects—love, unquenchable 
and changeless love. To this, I bear willing testi¬ 
mony ; and some instances of it have been sketched 
by the author in a forthcoming Tale. 


o 


194 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

marriage despising animals, now dead and gone, 
(rest and bless her!) and she did assuredly and 
didactically declare unto me, the words and terms 
following, viz.—“ that the moment a woman went 
to any trouble to convince you that she was not in 
love with you, that you might be certain (unless 
arising from your own fault) that she entertained 
a favourable opinion of you.” If this declara¬ 
tion ” set forth in the “ court of chancery ” of 
old maids (rest and bless them!) be correct, I 
here bring up another instance where my favourite. 
Mistress “ Letitia” was correct; and though Mr. 
Doricourt, with all his sense and all his elegance, 
could not solve her problems, conundrums, and 
riddles, yet she, by a magic stroke, at once gave 
him real delight and the most touching rapture. 
As a commentary on this, take the following ex¬ 
ample from real life —said example proving the 
above doctrine of old maids (rest and bless them!) 
to be correct. 

You recollect, my Lord, the gay and the grace¬ 
ful -You recollect his gentlemanly and 

winning address—his brilliant wit—amiable dis¬ 
position—and most extraordinary endowments. 
You do not forget the night he first caught your 

eye at the ball room of-. You saw him 

whirl through the mazes of the dance, fling him- 




195 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

self at the piano, take up the flute and accompany 
that piano, throw himself among half the women 
of the room and find conversation for them, and 
in ten minutes after, enter the deserted anti room, 
and with the member for the county, draw up the 
heads of a bill for him, which it was his intention 
to present to parliament the ensuing session; 
and remarking to him the leading topics of its 
accompanying speech. 

Your Lordship, however, does not forget the 
pale and Madonna countenance which was sitting 
on the Ottoman at the lower end of the room. 
He went up to her. Would she dance with him ? 
“No; she would not dance with him.” Would 
she take wine with him ? “ No ; she would take 

no wine with him.” Would she allow him to sit 
next her at supper? “ No; she would not on 
any account sit near him.” Might he attend her 
home ? “ No ; other persons would do it.” And 

yet after all this antipode way of showing “ grace 
and favour,” a week after brought him a present 
which he could not mistake ; and in another w.eek 
was confined to her bed with a snug and pretty 
physician attending her in an amatory fever—he 
totally unconscious of having been the cause. 
Now “ set this in case,” (as the bailiff in “ The 
Good-natured Man ” has it,) and it will afford an 

o 2 


196 s ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

additional proof that opposites are one way of 
falling into, and making love. Further inform 
your friend, my Lord, that for every reason, I 
think the plot a natural one; and declare unto 
him, that I am willing to defend my gay favourite 
against any stiff and uncourtly bachelor, who 
presumes to find fault with her; or against any 
other unchristian aggressor who would harm, ill- 
treat, or otherwise despitefully use her. She is a 
sensible and elegant woman, # and I cannot allow 
nasty, fusty bachelors (however full of college 
learning they may be,) to cut her up. 

This concludes my remarks on actors and acting. 
I however am to mention to your Lordship, that 
there are more actors in London than those above 
enumerated ; but as I have not either seen them, or 
having seen them but once, (Harley and Wallack for 
instance,) I should not deem myself prepared to en¬ 
ter into minute criticism on them. There is a young 
manhere of the name of Yates, who possesses powers 
of imitation in a surprizing degree; and it would 


* These are qualities which it grieves me much to 
say, are not often to be found in the world. Few things 
are more delightful than the company of the elegant 
and sensible female. Sense without elegance is as 
unwinning and forbidding, as elegance without sense. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 197 

afford both a curious and interesting inquiry to 
the critic, how, when he is able to imitate the 
leading actors so well, (in some selected passages) 
that he still does not take a range of those 
leading characters. This would take up more 
time to answer, than what it is my present in¬ 
tention to engage in, and shall, perhaps, leave it 
to some other opportunity. 

The only local circumstances which your Lord- 
ship inquires about, are, if the music saloon # is 
yet finished in St. James's-street, and if The 
Diorama,” in Regent’s Park, representing two 
paintings, shows them done on a flat surface or 
not; mentioning, that from the accounts you have 

* This is the most elegant shop of the kind either 
in London or Dublin. Those who do not wish to lay 
out money, should never go to this shop ; as the civility 
and kindness of its proprietor will certainly make them 
buy whether it is convenient and agreeable to their 
purses or not. If certain national theatres would take 
hints, I would say that it is a capital place for buying 
music for orchestras, so as to make a large collection 
for that public who support the said theatres.—Vide 
Note, p. 153. I here remark that I have never played 
on such fine toned grand pianos either in London or 
Dublin, as what I have met at Mr. Willis’s. I believe 
they are manufactured expressly for his splendid esta¬ 
blishment. 


198 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

heard of them, you wish you could be informed as 
to a certainty. 

With respect to the first, it is completely and 
elegantly furnished, and your family can have a 
piano /emitted to them (and I suppose tuned , one 
of tb/ase days) by all-powerful steam . With respect 
to the “ Diorama,” I can assure your Lordship as 
a fact, that they are painted on a flat surface. I 
spoke to the young man, who was bold enough to 
walk out on the frame-work of the awning which 
is spread out in front of the seats, for the purpose 
of satisfactorily assuring his eyesight that they 
were painted on a flat surface. I own the “ Ruins 
of Holyrood by moonlight,” to be the most beau¬ 
tiful example of deception in perspective I ever 
looked at; and the execution of it, as well as the 
way in which the eye is deceived, does infinite 
credit to the inventor. There is a female figure 
in it which is episodical, but which is perfectly 
allowable ; and it evinced great taste to introduce 
her here; but I at the same time think, that if 
the figure were a little more light and graceful, it 
would produce more effect. The head too of the 
kneeling monk in the foreground in the “ Ca¬ 
thedral,” is, I think too large—larger, I think, 
than Napoleon’s or Lord Byron’s; and we do not 
often look for such talented characters in monks. 


OJS TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C 199 

It now remains for me, my Lord, to conclude, 
and to apologize for having written so very long a 
letter to you. It strikes me I shall have to send 
it to you on some half dozen of franks, and to 
request that the mail-coach will order new springs 
before it conveys it, as the weight of dulness in it 
will break them down, 

I know your Lordship will enquire, why I have 
not sent you an account of the female performers 
of London; but, my Lord, I do most humbly pray 
of your lordship to recollect, that were I to go 
and roughly criticize these right worshipful crea¬ 
tures, they would forthwith, and with the utmost 
sang fvoid take off their garters, and strangle me 
instanter without either judge or jury. All the 
most refined and classical criticism, that I could 
pour forth on them would be as nought to them, 
if I attempted to say one uncourtly word against 
their high mightinesses. Besides, my Lord, my 
gallantry would be at once called in question, and 
as the celebrated Junius says, “ a pretty woman 
is the only tyrant which an Englishman is not 
authorized to resist,” I must only “ beg to decline ,” 
as the official refusals have it. Further, if your 
Lordship will look to the title page, you will per¬ 
ceive it is actors only I have engaged to speak 
of. 


200 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

The only thing, therefore, which I shall request 
of my fair female friends (and, indeed, there are 
many of them which have delighted me) is, to 
humbly and dutifully request that they will not 
paint their cheeks so very highly. In some cases, 
the rouge appears to me to be laid on with a 
trowel! instead of a delicate finger or pencil, so 
outrageously high is the colouring ; and at other 
times I have thought that they had opened an 
account with “ the new London patent brick com¬ 
pany,” for to supply them good red bricks ; for 
in truth, their glowing cheeks,” have often 
appeared to me as if rubbed over with a brick-bat, 
instead of rouge or carmine. I confess I do not 
admire this, for it instantly puts me into the 
middle of the saloon of Drury Lane Theatre, or 

the saloon at-. Now, not only in dress but 

in deportment, would I wish to see actresses, 
ladies ; and were I to meet such cheeks as those 
in any genteel drawing-room, (I have before 
hinted at a similarity between the drawing-room 
and the stage,) I would but get disgusted, and 
should only be obliged to politely hand her the 
tail of my coat to brush off the dust, colour, 
plaister, &c. &c. &c. 

I had written so far, my Lord, when I was in¬ 
vited to-, During my visit there, I had 




ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 201 

an opportunity of reading a most valuable work, 
“ Schlegel’s Lectures on Dramatic Literature.” 
It is written throughout with the most correct 
taste, and profound erudition. I am therefore 
extremely happy in finding that such a man 
should coincide with me in the leading features 
which this letter presents, and I shall accordingly 
w r rite down a few extracts from his admirable 
w T ork, which (coming from such authority) will 
fully bear me out in what I have advanced. By 
the way of preface, I shall also just add the fol¬ 
lowing from the high authority of Lord Byron. 

“ Writing for the stage, in its present state , is 
certainly not an object of very exalted ambi¬ 
tion/’ 

“ I may safely say that the dramatic art and 
the taste of the public are in England in a wretch¬ 
ed decline.”— Schlegel. 

“ If an actor requires instruction , he never can 
possess talent for acting . Directions respecting 
action are of the greatest detriment to dramatic 
eloquence.— Idem” 

“ Some players (even good ones) are always 
afraid of underdoing their parts ; and hence they 
are worst qualified for reserved action, for eloquent 
silence,” (this is a just and a beautiful expression,) 
“ when under an appearance of outward tranquillity. 


202 ON taste' judgment, &c. 

the most hidden emotions of the mind are be¬ 
trayed. In general, they rather endeavour to 
make the most of each separate passage, indepen¬ 
dently of the rest, than to go back to the invisible 
central point of the character, and to consider the 
whole of the expressions as so many emanations 
from that point.”— Idem . 

“ The person who represents a character should 
resemble as much as possible in size, age, and figure, 
the ideas which we form of the imaginary being 
of the poet, and even assume every peculiarity by 
which that being is distinguished; so that every 
speech should be delivered in a suitable tone of 
voice, and accompanied by corresponding looks 
and motions. He must also appear in a costume 
suitable to the assumed rank, age, country.” # — 
Idem . 

* Notwithstanding the appalling account whichSchle- 
gel and Byron give of the present state of the English 
stage, the author of this work is at present engaged in 
a comedy, (though his favourite Thalia is dead,) which 
he intends submitting for the approval or rejection of 
the public. His ardent wish is to see comedy restored; 
and though the attempt is arduous, yet, (as the com¬ 
mon saying has it,) there is nothing like a beginning. 
Besides, he has been promised the assistance of one, 
who is a favourite both with the writer and with Thalia. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 203 

I feel happy, my Lord, in being able to produce 
the above extracts. They are convincing and 
unanswerable, and until some other more clever 
person confutes him, I shall implicitly believe in 
all he advances. 

Your Lordship further requests of me to write 
you a list of our composers, poets, dramatists, 
&c. &c. I shall, my Lord, write you a list; but 
I regret to say it will be a very short one. We 
have got one composer, two poets, one prose wri¬ 
ter, and no dramatist (in genuine comedy or tra¬ 
gedy) of the present day. * The name of the com¬ 
poser is Carl Maria Von Weber; the names of the 
poets are H. H. Millman, and Thomas Moore, 
(how I regret that the splendid name of Byron is 
not alive to here add him;) and the name of the 
prose writer is Walter Scott, f As for tragedy 
and comedy— 

u Oh ! what a falling off was there.” 

* Why will the author of that interesting tragedy 
u Virginius,” put so much prose in his tragedies ? 
Surely his pen is vigorous enough to give us all poetry. 

+ I believe there is no one who will not allow that 
Scott’s genius lies in prose, and not in poetry. I 
make this assertion, generally speaking; and yet I 
know nothing in the English language (of its kind) 
beyond the delightful pastoral of “ The Lady of the 


204 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

Now, my Lord, after this “fair, open, and 
candid avowal,” (as the Parliamentarians have it,) 
I do pray you to put up a short (but effective) 
prayer for me, for I shall certainly be murdered by 
the Reviewers, particularly if any poets or prosers 
happen to write for them. I must only patiently 
and very heedlessly bear their stripes, but I shall 
never own my fault. Your Lordship will, no 
doubt, ask me, what have I done with the puis¬ 
sant Rossini ? # Be assured, my Lord, that if 
he was to write until Doomsday, he never will be 
able to equal that giant Weber. Weber pos¬ 
sesses the master-mind . Rossini has it not, and 
never will have it. One is a master—the other a 
school-boy. Even his best song (“ Di Palpiti”) 
is not completely original. There are some pieces, 
by Kalkbrenner, infinitely beyond Rossini. 

Lake.”—With respect to English composers, I ought 
not to except Bishop. I am speaking, however, of 
composers (whether English or foreign) of the present 
day. In song composition, and in the lighter pieces 
of music. Bishop stands eminently high. Indeed, in 
this respect, Mr. B. has more than one competitor. 

* An instance of unpoliteness in this composer has 
been mentioned to me, (when he was over on a visit 
here,) which I can scarcely credit. I can easily for¬ 
give eccentricity, (for it belongs to genius,) but I can 
never forgive impoliteness in any person. 


ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 205 

Am I to conclude now , my Lord ? Your Lord- 
ship will, I doubt not, tell me that my letter is 
like the web of Penelope—never to have an 
ending. 

I shall then but ask from you a dozen lines 
more. They shall be the following. 

I would wish then to see spectacles, shows, 
melo-drames and such other monstrous exhibi¬ 
tions expelled for ever from the stage, and feeble 
as is my pen, I shall always labour for it. I 
should wish—ardently wish to see genuine comedy 
and genuine tragedy restored in the present de¬ 
clining state of the legitimate drama. I should 
wish, that our leading actors should be always 
not only gentlemen but scholars, not only scholars 
but gentlemen. The actresses would I wish to see 
ladies in every respect. Further would I be un¬ 
fashionable enough to banish any and every species 
of immorality from the stage, and also restrain 
the boundaries of wit to the model of Sheridan, 
and not to that of Wycherly. In a word, I should 
wish to see the stage (what it ought to be, and 
what it can be) respected and respectable. 

“ You talk impossibilities/’ says your Lordship. 

Be it so, my Lord. It only remains for me to 
express my regret—to greatly express my regret, 
that they should prove impossibilities ; and though 


206 ON TASTE, JUDGMENT, &C. 

my pen is but feeble, I shall ever aim for the 
accomplishment of the above objects, satisfied that 
I shall have the countenance of those who lead 
in the drama and belles lettres. 

I have now only to add that, that I am sincerely 
and faithfully, 

&c. &c. &c. 




THE END 


LONDON : 

tBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 































